


Riding Shotgun Underneath the Purple Skies

by eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, PlayingChello



Series: Roleplays with Harley [3]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Consensual Underage Sex, Drug Abuse, Hitchhiking, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicide, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 34,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar/pseuds/eeeeeeeeeerenjaegar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingChello/pseuds/PlayingChello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title is a reference to the Fallout Boy song Favorite Record</p><p>A roleplay that <a href="http://www.twitter.com/SSmokinSick">Harley</a> and I wrote. They wrote Dante, I Nero.</p><p>"The ignition turns off and Dante pushes the bandana away from his mouth and leans back "You need a lift?""</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I _implore_ you to please check the tags if you have triggers. This is full of them. And there is one fairly detailed scene in which someone underage is sexually abused by a father figure. That part is skippable but please please don't put yourself in a situation you can't handle by reading this if that's gonna get to you.
> 
> Among other things, there are plenty of other triggery things scattered throughout this. I just care about you all, I'd much rather you stay safe than read this if you're going to be affected.
> 
> But I swear it's a cute ending.

Nero is pretty sure by now that he hates Nevada.

He’s been walking along the dusty pavement along some freeway in the middle of fucking nowhere for hours. There isn’t much traffic and what few cars do pass by don’t even slow down when he holds his thumb up. And more often than not he gets a choice finger out a window for his efforts.

It’s fucking hot.

He thinks back to his last ride. The guy was a greasy, disgusting prick who thought it was a better idea to take what he wanted than listen to Nero’s vehement ‘No.’ He kicked Nero out when he fought back. Bit his dick when the asshole forced him down and wouldn’t let him back up.

But it earned him his new status of wandering vagabond in the Nevada desert. He’s lucky he had half a bottle of water stashed in his backpack. He’d probably be dead by now if he hadn’t. The desert isn’t very forgiving.

And it is _fucking_ hot.

That’s what he gets for wearing a black shirt and dark jeans, torn up as it all may be. The sun beating down on him, even in the late morning, is hell on his light skin. He’s pretty sure his scalp is burning. Stupid light hair.

Not for the first time, he considers going back. Tossing it all in and trying to call home. But it’s not like he could go back even if he wanted to. No one would come get him. No one cares. He thinks back to his mom, the bitch. She probably wouldn’t even be coherent enough to drive, much less find him out here. He supposed he’d be able to call Credo but…

No, it’s better this way. He doesn’t want to go home. There’s nothing left for him there.

And a speck on the horizon coming closer gives him one more shot at moving on, getting somewhere that doesn’t put dust on everything he owns. Not that that’s all that much.

Motorcycles aren’t usually a good bet for someone willing to give a ride, but he’s willing to try anything. So he stops, sticks out his thumb, and hopes.

\--

Dante loves the desert.

Sure, it's hot and sure, you might sweat to death in your leathers, but that open feeling of freedom doesn't come from anywhere else. The dust his Harley Davidson - her name is _Rebellion_ , by the way - kicks up is repelled by matte aviators and a bandana around Dante's nose and mouth, keeping breathing easy and micro-road-rash away. Chaps comfortably rest over his jeans and a red jacket keeps him protected from the sun, and right now, he's just cruising. Another losing game of poker in Vegas awaits.

Before Vegas, though, comes the interesting sights. Cow, cow, more cows, armadillo carcass, and sometimes maybe some trinket left on the side of the road. Today, though, there was no trinket-- But rather a walking, breathing adventure.

This adventure came in the form of what looked like a five-nine-- No, five-eleven boy with fair skin and fair hair, much like Dante's own. He wore all black - big mistake - and carried with him a bag. Hitchhiker. 

Well, he might as well put the back seat to use.

Dante shifts gears and sets on the brake of his Harley, drifting off into this pedestrian's general direction and stopping a few feet in front of him. The ignition turns off and Dante pushes the bandana away from his mouth and leans back "You need a lift?"

\--

He expects the sound of the approaching bike to speed up and pass by just like every other car or bike he’s seen in the last couple hours. He doesn’t expect the sound of a slowing engine or the extra heat off of it close enough to feel. Doesn’t expect the loud engine to cut off suddenly.

He doesn’t expect the gruff voice asking if he needs a ride.

Nero looks over the man. He’s older, but not disgusting like some of the people he’s gotten rides from. His eyes are hidden behind sunglasses, but his stubbled jaw juts impressively over a dusty bandana he’s pulled off his face. He has an easy, cocky grin and something about him seems… exciting… to Nero.

All in all, the man looks like any other guy on a motorcycle, dressed up in red leathers and chaps. Nero doesn’t know where he’s headed, who he is, or what he’s capable of. But he’s desperate and he’s probably been in worse situations. Plus, the motorcycle actually has room for two.

“Yeah. Doesn’t matter where, just… away from here.” Nero shifts his bag higher up on one shoulder and flicks his eyes around, unable to keep them looking at the dark surface of the sunglasses.

And then, so quiet he isn’t sure if the man will hear, “I can make it worth your while.”

\--

Worth his while, huh?

Dante's wolfish grin widens, and his eyes glint behind his sunglasses. Oh yes, this would be some kind of adventure.

"Not necessary," he says, kicking one leg over the side of his bike to dismount, walking over to his new (temporary) bike decoration. He is cute-- Feisty eyes, strong jaw, muscular. Looks legal enough, and also looks like a really good f--

"Vegas sound good?" Dante says, walking back to his bike and motioning for the boy to follow. "Depends on how full that bag is, but it should be able to go in one of my saddlebags. Hopefully."

"So, kid," the elder begins, "where ya from? What's your name? The hell are you doing out here in buttfuck nowhere?"

\--

Nero follows when the man motions for it, surprised by his apparent lack of interest in any sort of payment for the ride. Even if the only payment Nero can really offer is that of the sexual variety.

“Vegas... ‘s good, yeah.” He lets his bag fall down into the crook of his elbow as the older man explains the saddlebags. It shouldn’t have any trouble fitting, there’s little more than a few shirts, another pair of jeans, and a toothbrush in the bag. Nothing fragile and nothing that takes up too much space.

But his questions are what give Nero pause.

“None of your fucking business, old man. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to ask personal questions like that? And I don’t see you tellin’ me your name. Not about to spill my whole life story to some suave stranger. Even if he is giving me a ride.”

\--

"Good deal," Dante says, securing his newfound companion's bag within the safety of his bike, wiping his mouth with a gloved hand, "prayin' it won't be so damn hot up there."

He stops, though, laughing low in his throat when this punk little shit sasses him. Dante leans on his bike, crossing his arms. And back comes that grin as he cocks his head at the smaller, "If your fingers are gonna be hooked on my beltloops for a few hours, I'd think a proper introduction would be more than just polite," he says, raising an eyebrow. "Might keep that awkward morning-after feeling away."

This kid is a whole 'nother ballgame, and Dante can already tell it'll be one he just might lose.

"Besides," he shrugs, "I really don't feel like getting arrested for harboring a runaway. Makes for lotsa paperwork and hassle, yeah?"

\--

Nero makes a dismissive grunt at the man’s rebuttal, but still opens his mouth, “Name’s Nero.” He pauses, not really willing to go on. Nero can’t really guarantee the biker’s safety from that very thing. He is _technically_ still underage. And _technically_ he is a runaway. But it’s not like anyone is going to come looking for him. Not like anyone cares.

“No one is gonna come looking for me. You don’t need to worry about that.”

And that’s the truth. As far as Nero knows anyway. His mom is probably glad he’s gone. His stepdad doubly so. Kyrie and Credo would forget about him soon enough. And there’s no one else left to care. No one else left to come find him. Plus, when they get to Vegas, he can get lost. Melt into the crowd of vagabonds and runaways. He’s not above using his body to make a quick buck, he’ll be fine.

Grumpily, he shoots his leather clad companion a glare, “Why don’t we quit the small talk and get a move on.”

\--

"Nero, ah?" Dante confirms, nodding and turning to swing a leg back over his bike, "Not a bad name. Mine's Dante."

"Only trying to be friendly," the elder says, getting comfortable. It's a bit of a drive to Vegas, and I figure I should know just who the fuck's on the back of my bike."

He motions for Nero to hop on behind him, shifting himself slightly farther up than he'd normally sit. The key's in the ignition and then Rebellion shakes to life, rumbling and kicking out exhaust. 

"Hold on to my belt loops," Dante calls over the engine once Nero climbs on, fixing his bandana back over nose, "and keep your arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times, yadda yadda yadda."

And then just as quick as he came, they're off, from zero to sixty in just under four seconds.

\--

The heat of the desert is much kinder to Nero as he feels the warm air whip passed him on the back of Dante’s motorcycle. It’s no less boring, no less dusty. But the heat doesn’t bother him quite so much.

The sand flying into his arms and scraping them open like living sandpaper sure does, though.

It starts cooling down around dusk, and not for the first time, Nero wishes he had some kind of jacket. Something to cover his arms, protect them, and maybe warm him up just a bit. He finds himself pressing more and more into Dante as evening grows darker and colder.

He’s practically hugging the man when they stop at some lonely looking motel somewhere outside of Vegas.

He’s stiff as he peels himself away so he can dismount and his arms feel raw and painful. When he’s finished cracking his joints and remembering what it feels like to walk again, he turns to Dante, “I can’t afford a room. Even in a shithole like this.”

\--

'This kid talks a big game,' Dante thinks as he hauls ass down the road, 'but if he clings to me any harder, I'm gonna get my circulation cut off.'

And once even he's got his fill of riding for the day, he makes sure to pull off on the next available exit. Motel Six it is. Dante makes sure to let Nero off first before he parks, shifting and settling back in his seat as the engine dies. 

Off come his bandana and his sunglasses, and then Dante's looking to Nero. 

Who, by the way, is much more attractive without a polarized filter.

"Eh," Dante shrugs, "we're not in Vegas and I'm fuckin' falling out, so don't worry about it." he says, dismounting. The boy that stands before him looks beat-up and wind-battered, and Dante looks him up and down before smiling, "Sorry. Should've warned you about a sweater."

\--

Nero doesn’t like accepting charity like this, not even from attractive older men with piercing icy blue eyes just offering it up. But he also knows he has absolutely no way of surviving the night in the desert without a roof over his head. He would freeze, probably dehydrate, and definitely die.

Doesn’t mean he has to appreciate the comment at his expense.

“Thanks, asshole. I feel like I’ve had several layers of skin ground off from my arms. Could’ve at least offered me a jacket.” He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t have one of his own. It’s probably plenty obvious.

He shivers and rubs at his arms (Ow, fuck, big mistake). It’s getting chilly and Nero doesn’t like standing around, doesn’t like being out in the open like this. “We just gonna stand out here and freeze to death, or do you plan on getting us a room?”

\--

"Nah, I was thinking we'd sleep out here on the fucking concrete." Dante deadpans, deciding to throw this little brat's sass back in his face. As funny and as unintimidating as it was - talk about little dog syndrome - it was beginning to press Dante's nerves. "And stop killing my vibe."

Regardless of Nero trying his patience, he shrugs off his leathers and holds it out to the boy before him. "I'll check us in. Toss this on in the meantime." he says, turning tail and heading inside.

The inside of the lobby is less than spectacular-- It's a shitty re-made living room with a desk plopped in it. But hey, Dante's not here for aesthetic.

He asks for a single twin bed and an overnighter, early check out. It's cheap-- And besides, he wants to see Nero's punk ass squirm for a minute or two. Little shit.

With a room key obtained, Dante walks back out to fetch said little shit. Who, much to the elder's dismay, looks _very_ attractive in that leather jacket of Dante's. Kinda makes him wonder what he'd look like with nothing else o--

"Scored a room," he calls, walking back over to his bike, "get your shit, I'm not gonna carry it for ya."

\--

He scoffs, but takes the jacket held out to him. As he watches Dante walk toward the building, he throws it over his shoulders and is immediately inundated with the scent of leather, lighter fluid, and just a hint of the sweetness of whiskey.

He decides he really likes the smell.

Nero shakes his head, trying not to think about the scent and the man he’ll be sharing a room with tonight. He’s not sure what to think of Dante. They haven’t really gotten to talk a lot, being on the road with all the wind noise and all. But he’s intrigued by him.

Dante comes back fairly quickly, griping for him to grab his bag. Nero does as he’s instructed and follows after to the room.

When the door opens he freezes for a moment. The room is like any other shitty motel room, a little desk, crappy TV from probably fifteen years ago, dingy little bathroom with hardly enough room for one person.

And one bed.

One very _small_ bed.

After the initial shock wears off, Nero turns to Dante with a suggestive brow raised, “Thought you weren’t looking for my kind of payment?”

\--

"I'm not," Dante assures, patting Nero on the back as he passes the smaller up into the room. He tosses his keys on the desk and swipes the remote from beside the TV, "that's why you get that bed. I know when I'll get my next, but I don't think you do."

He falls into the chair beside the desk, kicking his feet up and keeping the remote in hand. "So, you gonna stop being a creepy stranger hellbent on keeping your identity from me, or are you gonna make actual conversation?" 

Dante laughs. "I'm not gonna start, but I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he grins, his eyes still drawn toward the TV. "besides, maybe you'll even make a new friend."

\--

Nero can feel a blush start to bloom on his cheeks both from frustration and from how transparent he apparently is. It’s true that he doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance to sleep in an actual bed. Hasn’t since he left home, probably won’t for a good long while again.

So instead of trying to come up with another flippant retort, he just toes off his dusty shoes and sits on the bed. It’s hard, like a shitty motel bed is expected to be. But when Nero thinks about the places he’s had to sleep the last couple days, it feels like a fucking fluffy cloud.

Dante’s continued speaking keeps him from thinking on the comfort of the bed for too long. Nero looks over to the man, sitting like he’s right at home at the desk chair. His aloof nature holds a certain intrigue for Nero, almost like looking at what he could be. If he got his shit together a little, found a way to afford transportation. He could see himself living on the road like that.

“I’m not exciting. Home life was shit, so I left. Don’t have a destination, just as long as it’s away from there.” He’s tempted to snap at him that he doesn’t need a friend. But something stops him. Maybe it’s how tired he is from all that time with the Nevada sun beating down on him. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, Dante gets a little of what he wants and Nero doesn’t make an ass of himself yet again. Mostly.

\--

"Neither am I, but I just think I should have a little background on my passenger." Dante shrugs, grinning. He listens to Nero speak, though, and nods along. "Ah, the shitty childhood," he hums, flipping channels, "I know where you're coming from." 

"Well," the biker begins, "I'm Dante. Jack of all trades, master of none - but better than a master of one," he winks, keeping his grin steady. "I like Cognac, I like weed, and I like guns that match my bike. Your turn."

Dante decides to settle on a channel. Said channel was nothing special-- Cops in 240p. He leans back and waits for Nero to answer with his hardass 'none of your business' bullshit, but then turns to the TV. "Tomorrow is gonna be a bit of an adventure before Vegas. You in?"

\--

“I…” Nero isn’t very good at talking about himself. Never has been, probably never will be. Even to people he does know and trust.

The channel flipping finally settles on some cop show. The sound of radio scanners and optimistic law enforcement officers plays from the little television. It reminds him of Credo.

“My best friend watches these shows all the time.” Nero picks at a loose thread in the comforter. It’s probably not what Dante was going for when he gave him room to speak, but it’s better than Nero’s usual complete dismissal when it comes to facts about himself.

And when Dante brings up the mention of adventure, Nero has no idea what he could possibly mean by it. But he’s intrigued, caught hook, line, and sinker. Adventure is what he wants, he wants adrenaline and new experiences and a _life_. So Nero hardly gives himself time to quirk his lips into a smirk-turned-grin before he’s opening his mouth, “Definitely.”

\--

And that grin of Nero's is easily the most fantastic sight Dante's tired eyes have ever seen.

"Great. You been to a bar before, kid?" Dante asks, watching Nero's face as he begins to talk. "The one we're going to's pretty off-road. It's kinda hidden, but it's got some pretty good atmosphere and some even better booze. For damn cheap, I might add."

"It's off some little dirt road," the older continues, trying to set the scene. "Pretty small, little wood building and a dirt lot. Bikes all outside of it." Dante knows he probably looks like a babbling, wanderlust idiot, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Just need to find a pretty girl - or guy, if he's a real little brat - to decorate the back of my bike and give me fantastic head whenever I feel like," Dante scoffs, smiling lightly. "Yeah. When pigs fly, I guess."

\--

Nero hesitates, considering lying, but finally shakes his head, “No.”

And then Dante launches into his description. 

Nothing about this place sounds particularly special. By Dante’s telling, it’s a watering hole in the middle of nowhere where the bikers like to hang out. But this little sparkle of adventure tugs at Nero’s chest and makes him hang onto every word. He watches the way Dante speaks, like his whole life centers on the little things like this bar. Like finding a gem off the beaten track is his passion.

(Though, Nero suspects the drinking probably has a lot to do with it).

He’s so enraptured in the scene setting, that he nearly misses the turn it takes, Dante’s dismissal of a ‘bike decoration’ by his phrasing. Nero cocks a brow, “Do I need to leave you alone with your fantasies?” Then he flicks his eyes away as unease washes over him. His finger traces the tacky pattern on the comforter, “I’m… not exactly old enough to get into a bar…”

\--

"Nah," Dante chuckles, "Half the time, I think I just like hearing myself talk about weird shit in the middle of nowhere," he says almost absently, sighing and leaning back in his chair. "We'll save the rest of that little history lesson for tomorrow when we get there, yeah?"

But the 'not old enough for a bar' statement makes Dante pause, and then laugh once more. "Fuck it, they won't card you. I'll just order your booze for you. Don't trip, chicken strip." 

Eventually, Dante rises and throws himself onto the concrete-like couch in the corner of the room. He's slept on worse and fucked on worse, so it does tolerable. His channel-flipping eventually ends, and Dante settles on something he knows Nero could probably pass out to. Something boring, mindless. Wasn't like he'd be catching a lick of sleep anyway. Insomnia is a cruel mistress without mercy.

Meh, whatever. Might as well suck it up.

\--

Nero had been concerned about admitting to how young he is. Well, at least admitting that he was too young to drink. But Dante seems to have taken it quite well. Still, he can’t help the way his stomach curls a bit at just hoping Dante is right- trusting him.

The older man had begun flipping channels again at some point, maybe out of boredom, maybe out of something else. But finally it settles on something simple and boring. And easy to sleep to. Dante flops onto the couch in the corner and even from here, Nero can tell it’s not very comfortable. Not that the bed is really all that much better, but anything has to be better than that.

Nero pulls the comforter and top sheets back so he can slide under them, reveling in the warmth and the feeling of actually getting to stretch out for once. But he knows he’ll just curl up into an instinctive ball before long.

He makes it maybe ten minutes before he rolls over and stares at the couch, lit by the flickering light of the television. Dante is laying with a certain ease, but it’s clear that he isn’t sleeping. And Nero still thinks that couch has to be miserable to sit on, especially after driving all day.

After much deliberation and several mind changes, he finally blurts out, “You know, I don’t mind if you want to share the bed. You might throw out your back trying to sleep on that thing.”

\--

Dante was starting to space out. He was starting to drift, starting to let his mind wander. As his dull eyes unfocus on the TV, he began to think about his last few weeks-- Covered in dust and dirt. Thank god there is a goddamn shower, he is gonna be the first one in it tomorrow.

This particular poker run has been lasting a little under two weeks now-- Dante is sure he's hit every strip club and watering hole from Washington to Oregon. Nevada is his current tour, with Vegas obviously being his first stop. He didn't expect to have company, but...

He looks over at Nero, who's rolled over on his side. This kid is a real character-- Pretty shy on giving information, but not necessarily in a shady way. He's got some issues, that much Dante can promise, but hell.

So does he.

His head turns back to the TV, and he hears the younger shuffling. But his voice is what startles Dante-- Makes him look over once more. 

"I'm good, I swear," Dante laughs lowly, "Just don't sleep much."

\--

“Whatever you say. Don’t say I didn’t offer,” Nero returns. He sighs, rolling a bit so he’s flat on his back.

He spreads out as much as the small bed will let him, enjoying the feeling of stretching his limbs and laying down. Not worrying about someone stealing his shit. Not curling in on himself in an awkward seat for warmth because the AC is blasting in some trucker’s cab.

It’s nice.

But it doesn’t last long. He can’t help the way he feels uneasy. Too open, too exposed. It happens slowly. First his arms and legs come back close to his body. Then he rolls to his side, back facing the inner part of the room, with the door in front of him. Eventually his legs curl up and his arms hug the blankets close to his body until he’s little more than a ball. Curled up like a frightened child.

It’s this and the white noise of some show on the television that lets him finally pass out.

\--

Dante doesn't sleep.

He stays up for hours, doing mundane things. Making coffee (and spiking it-- Ayy, it's five o'clock somewhere), flipping channels, showering, stepping outside for cigarettes. Nothing could put him to sleep, so he decides to bear with it.

Nero, though.

Dante's thoughts have continually shifted to him, and he can't figure out why. The kid's a fucking enigma; A puzzle Dante is determined to solve. He's unreadable, even now, asleep in some shitty motel bed. If Dante didn't know any better, he'd almost say Nero really was a kid, the way he slept so balled up-- Scared. 

Been there, done that, bought the fucking t-shirt and hated the encore. But, whatever.

Four am rolls around. Then five, then six. Dante decides to wake Nero up around sixish, styrofoam cup with steaming coffee in hand. "Hey," Dante grunts, setting it down on the nightstand, "Wakey wakey eggs and bakey, kiddo. It's a brand new day, the sun's almost shining, and Jesus is wishing you a lovely morning." 

Dante's eyes feel heavy-- He's awake, but his body, not so much. Regardless, he grins, "Let's go grab food, 'm starving and if I'm gonna keep riding, I need sustenance." 

"You can keep the jacket for the ride, too," the taller calls, wandering back to the sink to brush his teeth, "I can roll down my button-up, I'll be fine."

\--

One time during the night, something rouses Nero. The sound of water coming through too thin walls and the lack of a body on the couch indicates Dante is in the shower. Nero doesn’t pay it much mind and falls back asleep soon after.

The next time he wakes, it’s to a voice spouting every wake up cliche in the book.

It doesn’t stop him from flinching. His limbs automatically tense, drawn even closer into his body. After a few moment of blinking and no follow up pain, he remembers where he is. Not home with a mother who beat him or a stepfather who-

He’s in the middle of nowhere Nevada with a stranger on a motorcycle.

He wishes he could say that was the scariest thing he’s ever done.

He barely registers what Dante is telling him, but he does hear the word ‘food’ and that sounds pretty fucking great to him. Pretty fucking great to his stomach as well, by the way it, very loudly, decides to announce its emptiness.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, a bit surprised when Dante offers to let him wear the jacket. His eyes dart to where it had been left hanging over a chair and he remembers the way it smelled, how it felt. He’ll like wearing it again. And he’ll definitely appreciate not sustaining anymore sand buffeting.

\--

"Up, up, up and at 'em!" Dante calls as a last-ditch effort to get Nero up, trying to collect anything and everything he might've left. "There's like to be a Denny's or some shit around here. We can hit that."

And then Nero's stomach growls. Loudly.

Which, naturally, causes Dante to laugh. "Hungry? Yeah, me too," he chuckles, grabbing the room key and shoving it into his pocket for the time being. He sits back down to toe on his boots and replace them, looking up at Nero. "Bet you slept like a dream. Gotta love the motel concrete they call beds."

\--

Joint fluid popping can be clearly heard as Nero stretches and sits up. He practically shoves his feet in his worn combat boots, a gift from Kyrie. But for all the grumbling his joints do, he feels… _fantastic_. Sleeping in a bed has done wonders for him. He feels refreshed, revitalised, ready for a new adventure. Ready to get his blood pumping and almost ready to face the Nevada heat.

Nero doesn’t mention his lack of funds. If anything, Dante’s probably figured out that he’s broker than fuck. No need to draw attention to it. 

It takes a few moments, but once he’s standing and his clothes resemble something put together, he feels considerably more awake. And considerably hungrier. He reaches out and tosses on Dante’s jacket, big on him, especially at the shoulders. “Come on, ‘m starving.”

\--

"Well alright," Dante grins, "Let's hit it."

Dante snatches his keys from the corner of the desk and turns to Nero, "Make sure you get your bag, I'm gonna check us out. We'll head out after that." he informs, nodding towards the door. "Go ahead and get on Rebellion, I'll be there in a sec."

He heads back to the lobby and makes sure the room's taken care of. As he steps out, he pats himself for his sunglasses and snatches his bandana from its place in his back pocket, only slowing to look at Nero.

Aw, fuck.

It's easily one of the sexiest things he's ever seen, Nero on the back of his bike. Dante really tries not to think about it-- And by 'it', he means the way his coat hangs off Nero's shoulders like one of those morning-after shirts. The way he looks comfortable, like he'd look so good smack in the middle of one of Dante's fantas--

Nope.

"Alright! Let's go get some fuckin' pancakes and then win more money, hopefully," Dante says, stepping forward and securing his gear. "Should be one just off the next exit. If not, well, adventure!"

\--

Nero does as he's told, grabs his bag, shoves anything that had migrated out of it back in, and shoulders it as he pushes out of the room. 

Outside, the sun is already up but the heart hasn't set in yet. Dante's bike is sitting right where they left it, of course. It's really quite beautiful, now that Nero really looks at it. All dark and intimidating and kind of sexy. 

Rebellion, eh? It fits. 

He shoves his bag in where Dante had had it the day before and climbs on. It's easy, this time. Sitting on the back of the bike feels good. Feels familiar. Definitely something he wouldn't mind getting used to. Maybe that would be his goal: get money enough to buy a bike. Maybe Dante could even show him how to drive... 

Dante's voice cuts his thoughts. Pancakes sound perfect. But money? "What is it we're doing today, exactly?"

\--

“Gambling in seedy bars, of course. Hope you know how to play poker," Dante answers simply, getting comfortable on Rebellion before starting her up. 

That's truthfully one of Dante's favorite sounds; Rebellion shaking as she fires up, ready to keep up with the day's travels. Truly, she's been with Dante longer than he can remember-- His father had her before him, and it's his only keepsake. And even now, she still runs like a fucking dream, pushing ninety without breaking a sweat. If Dante had to pick a lifelong companion, he likes to think it'd definitely be that bike.

And with the wind in their faces and the heat of the desert just a few hours away, they take off.

The Denny's was a little farther than Dante expected, but they manage. And as they enter, the (very pretty) front of house greets them warmly, and seats them accordingly. But as she grabs menus, Dante interrupts her, "Lemme get one of the kid's menus for this one here. Dunno if he can handle the grown up stuff yet." 

It's probably his shit-eating grin that makes her mostly ignore his request.

\--

Poker. Nero hasn't played in years. Not since he cleaned out his classmates of all the good shit from their lunches in school. He apparently wasn't much fun to play with.

He goes over the rules in his head as they drive. Tries to remember the hands and betting. He's never played with actual money before, but the concept is the same.

When they stop, Nero realises just how much he appreciates having the jacket this time. His arms aren't raw and there's the added benefit of no sunburn.

He's about to thank Dante again when he tries to order a kid's menu, but the comment earns him a deep scowl decorated with a flush of embarrassment instead. He has a hard time looking at the hostess after that.

"You're an ass."

\--

Dante only laughs when they sit, reaching over to ruffle Nero's windswept white hair. "Get used to it," he shrugs, resting both elbows forward on the table. "You're gonna be stuck with it. I'm just fucking with you anyway." 

Truthfully, Dante knows Nero isn't a child. It's only the way he holds himself that makes the older tease so relentlessly-- He's hotheaded with one hell of a potty mouth, and he's fidgety. Moves a lot. Just like a kid.

"When's Happy Hour?" Dante only half-jokes, looking through the menu. "Don't worry about paying me back for all this, either. I'm thinking we'll just split poker winnings fifty-fifty when we get to Vegas, call it even and then go our separate ways, yeah?"

\--

Nero pouts, crossing his arms and acting every bit the child he was just accused of being. But it’s mostly a front, a way to not look surprised at Dante’s words. Stuck with it? What does that mean?

But then Dante continues, explains the plan, and that they’d part soon, and Nero forgets all about the comment. He does feel uneasy about Dante paying for him, but it’s not like he’s in a position to deny it. He can either accept this man’s generosity or go hungry. And with the way his stomach is continually reminding him of just how hungry he is, he’s more inclined to go with the former. “Yeah, sounds good. Poker, Vegas, goodbye.” It’s bittersweet, saying it like that. Nero’s not sure he really wants to part ways, but he’s not one to overstay his welcome either.

When the waitress comes by, she takes their orders. Nero orders the meal that looks like it has the most food for the cheapest, eggs, sausage, potatoes, pancakes. If the two are going to be parting ways, even with poker winnings, he’s not sure how future meals will play out.

\--

Dante settles on pancakes, hashbrowns and a chocolate shake. He's hungry and he has been for awhile, but not really so much because he's broke - he's just six-three and weighs in at about a solid two-twenty. Makes for one hell of an appetite.

And when he glances up from his own food, he notices that Nero's scarfing his own breakfast down. Which is good, Dante thinks, because it's not exactly a secret that he's broke. 

"If you want more after this, lemme know," Dante mumbles as he takes in a mouthful of shake, "I don't want you complaining about being hungry on the way to the bar."

\--

Nero looks down at his several plates of food and considers it. Really considers it. But he’s taken so much and this is more food that he’s eaten in probably a day since he left home. Probably since before that, honestly. He shakes his head, “Nah, I’m good.” He takes several more bites before looking up into Dante’s eyes, “Thank you, though.”

He stays pretty quiet after that, focused on eating as much as he can as fast as possible. He momentarily wonders if his voracity is off-putting. But then he decides he doesn’t give a flying fuck and continues eating with renewed vigour until all of his food is gone.

Dante pays after they finish and they go back out to the bike. Rebellion. The desert has certainly warmed up considerably by now and Nero just hopes the bar isn’t too far away just to get off the road and out of the sun.

\--

The ride after breakfast is a pretty long one.

It's definitely on the way to Vegas, but it's still one hell of a ride. It's hot, there's dust everywhere, and Dante is sure he's ridden around about six dead coyotes. The scenery, though, is what makes this drive so damn good.

It's all one color, mostly-- Brown and tan, with the dusty grey of the road. But the cactus, the birds and the occasional road sign make it seem... Much more open. Free. 

And they take several stops. Pull off for piss breaks, pull off for water breaks. Hell, sometimes pull off just to stretch their legs and talk, but the real conversation comes when they get closer to the bar.

Dante taps Nero's knee without looking away from the road, "Look alive, kiddo, we're coming up on our stop."

\--

The ride is long and boring.

Nero doesn’t really have much to focus on. Just dirt and cactus as far as the eye can see. And the temperature climbs, making Nero almost wish he was in some truckers cab rather than out on the open road on a motorcycle. Almost.

Still, all things considered. He’d rather be with Dante.

Nero hardly hears Dante when he tells him they’re almost there, but he manages to make out the words and breathes a heavy sigh of relief. When they see it, it’s pretty much exactly as Dante described. Small wooden building on a dirt lot with bikes. Looks like a shitty hole in the wall off the beaten track.

Perfect.

As they dismount, Nero comments, “Just like you said. Let’s get inside where it’s cool, quick.” Even as he says it he wraps the leather jacket he’s wearing tighter around him. Like some kind of protective shield, some kind of comfort. Despite the heat.

\--

The bar's fucking beautiful, and it pulls a grin from Dante's lips the second they pull in. 

Yeah, it's a hole in the wall-- A complete dive, including the few bikers and their girls standing right outside with cigarettes between their fingers, just talking. Dante parks and returns his bandana to its resting place in his back pocket, and his sunglasses to the front of his shirt.

"Alright. Hope you can keep up, kid. People here take their gambling very seriously," Dante informs, nudging Nero lightly with his elbow as he shoulders the door of the pub open.

The inside's pretty okay. Bar chock full of booze, as it should be, and there's stools and wooden tables scattered about. There's music coming from some stereo system likely hidden out of view, and there's a dull buzz about the building from the small crowd. Waitresses come in and out of the back carrying drinks, and Dante smiles once again. 

"I don't know why I expected this bar to smell like anything other than cheap hooker, but I did," he mumbles, leading Nero back to the bar. "Now we wait, get lightly buzzed, and see which poker game looks the least like they're playing with their lives."

\--

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Nero grumbles. He follows Dante into the dark room. Dark enough that it takes a moment for Nero’s eyes to adjust after being out in the bright sun. Once he can start to make out the shapes, he sees what is probably a fairly typical bar. Not that Nero would really know, having less than no experience in the matter.

There’s booze. There’s music. There’s seating. And there are seedy people all about. Waitresses wearing a lot less than what Nero would deem appropriate in any setting, and girls hanging around tables wearing even less. He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks and only hopes the dark of the room hides it.

And Dante is right about the smell. Sweat and cheap perfume. It’s not pleasant, but Nero thinks it’ll be something he’s capable of getting used to after a few minutes.

“These people bet with their lives?” Nero asks with a raised brow as they sit at the bar. “Seems… excessive. Money not enough?” He says it like a joke, but it’s less a joke and more nerves. This just suddenly got a lot more dangerous.

\--

Dante orders himself straight Absinthe nearly right off the bat, and it comes in a small, white glass with a rough frost to it. But as he goes to take his shot, he erupts into a hearty laughter at Nero's adorable question.

He actually has to set his shot down for this-- He bought that? Fuck, as cute as it is, Dante decides he'd rather not have the smaller sweating bullets in the middle of a poker game. "Kiddo," he wheezes, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder, "I'm just fucking with you."

After he lets his laughter subside, he ruffles Nero's hair for the second time today. "I just mean we'll wait until some less seedy people show up. Because people do bet with drugs. But, if you wanna win yourself an eight-ball, we can do that, too."

Dante's shot goes down easy, and he tosses his head back as he takes it to speed the process. "Did you want anything? You look like a vodka person. Unless I'm wrong."

\--

For the second time, Nero pouts. “Don’t want drugs. I haven’t hit that low yet.” Dante is infuriating, always ready to make a joke at his expense. But then, maybe that’s what draws Nero to him.

He watches the way Dante tosses back his shot. Like this is so normal for him. Probably is, to be fair. The man has clearly been around. He’s just got that travel worn look about him. Looks like he’s been places, seen things.

As for his drink. Vodka is a double edged sword for him. Reminds him of his mother. But it’s also the only alcohol he really has any experience with. “Yeah… Vodka is good.”

Dante orders the drink and Nero tries to shoot it as smoothly as Dante. It burns, tastes like rubbing alcohol, and he’s pretty sure he fails at keeping from grimacing. But it warms his stomach and settles alright. He guesses he can see why his mom likes it. Not horrible going down and gets you buzzed pretty quickly.

\--

For once, Dante decides to hold off on his liquor. Usually, he'd sit for hours and blow every last dime on booze; But considering he has a passenger, he figures he can't get too wasted before driving. 

Had he been alone, though, he's sure he would've stayed here for hours. This was a popular place among Dante's kind-- The biking, functioning alcoholics. The older can already tell that he likes this place (and their alcohol) and almost wishes that he could just--

'I think I'm a little too old for that, now.'

The biker glances over to Nero, who has the most sour look on his face after knocking back his drink. He laughs lowly, and shifts on his stool. "Don't choke, that shit burns coming back up."

It goes on like this for awhile. The drinking, the talking. Dante eventually finds them a table to play at, and he's definitely blindsided-- But not by someone he was playing against.

By fucking _Nero_.

This kid had to be fucking counting cards or some shit, because he hardly lost. Dante decides to back out early on, because obviously, this little shit knew what he was fucking doing.

What a shiesty little bastard.

\--

They drink for some time, and the Vodka starts to stop tasting like fire and starts tasting like not much of anything. Nero definitely gets a healthy buzz or more before Dante picks them a table, where they join in for some interesting poker.

Dante is shit at poker.

It’s a wonder he’s ever won anything. He drops out of the game pretty quickly, which is honestly probably for the best. Nero, though. The moment he starts playing, it all comes back. He settles in and plays the people around him. And with a little extra luck, he makes out pretty fucking alright.

And the look of utter shock on Dante’s face might be a little extra reward.

When they step away from the table, Nero smirks, “Surprised, old man? Getting shown up by some kid?”

\--

"I wouldn't say shocked is the right word," Dante sighs, "but I will admit, I'm impressed. You handled yourself pretty fucking well in there," he says with a smile as they exit the bar. He holds the door open for Nero with a, "After you, winner winner." 

The short walk back to the bike is pretty much silent, save for in Dante's mind. Their next stop was Vegas, right? Which is where they're _supposed_ to split. But as the elder thinks on it, he's not exactly sure that's what he wants anymore.

Nero's a good kid, Dante can tell. Genuine. Loyal as all hell and fiery, with a dash of passion and spunk. He's strong and he's obviously pretty fucking smart, and usually that would be enough for Dante to let someone go out on their own-- Someone like that would normally be perfectly capable of handling themselves. Not that Nero isn't.

Dante just doesn't wanna see this kid, this obviously brilliant kid, end up on the fuckin' five o'clock news with a rape and murder crime headline under his picture.

So he shakes it off. Shakes it off, stands beside his bike. "Well? Bust it out, let's see whatcha got," he grins, motioning to Nero's jacket pocket. "That was at least two hundred."

\--

Nero is pretty surprised himself that Dante is willing to admit that Nero had impressed him. Although, it would’ve been pretty silly for him to have denied it. It’s written all over his face. He mutters a thanks, of double meaning that Dante may or may not get, as Dante holds the door open for him.

The heat of the desert hits him at the same time as the meaning of all of this does.

This is more or less it. Dante had already said they’d play poker, split the winnings, and then split up when they get to Vegas. And Nero’s just starting to realise that he really doesn’t want that to happen.

Dante is a lot of things. He’s pushy and brash and likes to poke fun. He’s a downright asshole when he wants to be. He seems to have the kind of attitude that he answers to no one and the world just needs to deal with him doing as he pleases.

But he’s also kind, compassionate. He picked Nero off the side of the road, gave him a bed to sleep in, a ride, food, even found a way to get him some money so he’s not entirely broke. In fact, he’s pretty well off considering. Dante’s just got this feeling to him, it draws Nero in and makes him want to stick around.

Makes him not want to say goodbye.

He shakes his head a bit to clear the thoughts when Dante starts talking. He shoves his hand into the pocket of Dante’s jacket and pulls out a bunch of crumpled bills. And for a moment, he thinks of taking more than his share. See if it’ll make Dante come back for it. Just to see him again. But the thought is gone as soon as it came. “I think it’s closer to three. I did pretty well.”

He holds out the handful of cash to let Dante count it and he won’t ever admit the way his heart rate picks up when their hands brush.

\--

As Nero holds out the cash, Dante takes it in his right to count with his left, flicking bills back as he counts. "Fucking hell," he breathes, grinning. "Solid three-sixteen. You did damn good, kid. Not bad, not bad." 

Dante splits it as evenly as he can, handing Nero his share and pocketing his. "I can drop you outside a motel when we get to Vegas. It might be getting dark by that point, so," he says, leaning against his bike. "Might as well get you settled in 'fore I dip." For a minute, Dante looks at Nero, and he swears to god he sees disappointment.

But he figures it's just the alcohol. 

The ride to Vegas is almost sad. The ride is spent in silence, and the occasional daring maneuver to impress Nero. Other than that, though, they don't talk, and glances aren't exchanged. Not from Dante, anyways.

The city is nice. It's busy, pretty girls on every block, loud noises and bright lights. It actually reminds Dante a little of Nero-- Vegas is the city of bad decisions and rebellion. So both he and Nero fit in just right.

The motel they stop in front of is pretty alright. It's on the strip, near a couple bars and smooshed against a restaurant. Dante pays for parking and helps Nero off the bike, before standing in front of him. "...Think I'm gonna need my jacket back, kid," he says, pausing after. "Nero."

\--

Three hundred sixteen dollars.

That’s better than not bad. That’s fucking rich from where Nero’s standing. Even his share of that is more than he’d hoped to have for a long time without stealing. When Dante hands him back the bills, he folds them carefully and shoves them deep into his jeans pocket. It’s like solid gold heavy in his pocket.

When Dante starts talking again, Nero focuses in on him. Watches the way his hip leans into his bike as he talks about Vegas.

Oh yeah. Vegas.

Nero can’t keep the disappointment from flashing across his face, but he’s quick to shake it off and hide behind impassivity.

He spends the the ride staring hard into Dante’s back and trying not to grip too tight. Not even Dante’s daring maneuvers can shake him from the storm in his head. All he can think about is the impending farewell at some flashy cheap ass motel in Vegas. And as they start seeing more traffic, as buildings start cropping up on the side of the road, bright neon lights and people walking around start becoming the norm, Nero’s stomach drops further and further.

By the time they stop, Nero can hardly look at Dante anymore. He just shifts his weight after retrieving his bag and stares at the ground while Dante stands in front of him. It’s his name that forces his head up to actually look at the man there. Rough around the edges with something shining in his eyes Nero can’t hope to place, but it looks a little like… sadness? Disappointment? Something. He should ask Dante to stay, tell him he doesn’t want to go. But the man probably has more important things to do than cart around a kid on the back of his bike.

Nero drops his bag on the pavement so he can shrug off the jacket and hold it out. “Uh, thanks. For everything.” He wants to add a ‘see you around’ or something, but it’s a lie and he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s a false hope.

He can’t even bring himself to say goodbye.

\--

Dante takes his jacket from Nero and tosses it on, stopping to shove his hands in the pockets afterwards. "No problem," he mumbles, eyes focused on the bridge of Nero's nose. "Uh," he starts, "Stay safe, yeah? Got some real fucking creeps out there. Buy a knife with that cash and treat it like your best friend." 

With that, Dante's hand comes up to ruffle Nero's hair again-- But not roughly, like he usually would. It comes out like more of a pet, and Dante's hand immediately retreats back to his jacket pocket. "Be good. Catch ya on the flipside, kiddo."

The older hesitates before finally brushing past Nero to start up Rebellion once again. The more he thinks about it, the less he wants to leave, which is exactly why he takes off like a bat out of fucking hell the second traffic clears just enough.

But even as he hauls ass down the road, lane splitting and generally just pushing his limits, he realizes just how much he misses Nero on the back of his bike. It's weird, how much that fuckin' kid's affected him-- Makes his stomach do that weird flippy shit when a smile graces that usually grumpy face. 

And he thinks about it. He really does. Dante tries so hard not to make any stupid decisions, tries so hard just to forget about Nero. He's just a hitchhiker, nothing new to Dante. He'd picked them up before, let them go no problem; So why was Nero different?

Fuck it.

Might as well go find out, right?

Dante switches lanes and flips a bitch at the next stoplight, eyes scanning for the side lot of that motel. And when he finds it, he parks, hopping off his bike so quick he nearly stumbles over himself.

Please, please be in the fucking lobby.

Dante shoulders the door open, eyes doing a quick flicker around before--

Oh, thank god.

"Hey kiddo, still got room for one more?"

\--

Dante’s hand in his hair feels good, but it’s gone too fast. And he follows, getting back on his bike, starting it up, and speeding off. Nero watches him go for a bit, shivering despite the heat. He feels… weird.

Doesn’t matter. Dante’s gone and he’ll probably never see him again. He’ll follow the older man’s advice and buy a knife after he gets checked in and takes a shower. The smell of the road (and of Dante) is still clinging to his skin and it’s just making him feel stuck.

He turns and steps into the lobby. It’s air conditioned, fortunately. But everything else about it speaks to how cheap it is. Advertisements for local strip clubs and bars litter the room. Shitty neon lights are _everywhere_ , but the most obnoxious highlight is the front desk where a tired, greasy kid probably around Nero’s age is flipping through a magazine.

He has to clear his throat and hit the stupid little service bell before the kid looks up. “You got a free room for the night? Cheapest thing you’ve got.”

The kid eyes him up and down and Nero hugs himself, wishing he had Dante’s jacket on still. He looks suspicious of Nero, but keeps his comments to himself and doesn’t ask too many questions. Several minutes later, he’s being handed a key card and Nero goes to turn around.

And the voice stops him.

“Dante? You-” Nero can’t think of what he wants to say to the man. Can’t believe he’s back in front of him again. Can’t believe he _came back_.

He holds up his key card, “Got a room, no reason I can’t have company.”

And then he smiles.

Dante came back.

\--

Dante flashes a signature toothy grin, and shoves his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight as he steps forward. "Well alright then. Let's party," he laughs, eyes fixated on Nero.

God, that smile is so fuckin' b--

"Don't look so surprised," Dante teases, stepping up to Nero's left side and following his lead, "Feels weird not having a smart-mouthed little punk on the back of my bike. And," Dante pauses, "All the cheap motels are closed."

It's a blatant lie, and he figures Nero knows that. He figures he won't get the third degree for it, so he just keeps on. "You can have the bed again, that way it'll be just like old times!" 

The room's cheap, much like the previous one they'd shared. Couch, desk, and a slightly nicer TV. "Well it's not a complete shithole, so," Dante shrugs. "Could be worse."

\--

Nero scowls at Dante’s description of him, but there’s nothing behind it. And his claim of cheap motels is a dirty fucking lie. He could have at least tried to make it believable and say they were full. Nothing is ever closed in Vegas, the city never sleeps.

But Nero is just glad for the company. Glad he doesn’t have to spend the night alone trying not to think about Dante and worrying over what he would do with himself after this. And fucking ecstatic that he’s going to get a chance to clean himself thoroughly of all of this fucking dust.

Dante keeps talking, and Nero lets him. He just listens as they walk to the room and he opens the door. His voice is a nice filler for the atmosphere. It’s comfortable and it fits. And he’s right about the room. Bed’s bigger, so Dante really doesn’t need to sacrifice it. TV is better, desk looks a bit sturdier. Decor is still awful, but that’s cheap motels for ya.

“I’m gonna catch a shower, get rid of all this road dust.” Nero announces, tossing his bag in a corner and toeing off his boots. He leaves Dante to do whatever he’s going to do and ducks into the bathroom, immediately throwing the water on while he peels off his clothes.

The shower feels good and he stays under the spray until the water runs clear and his hair no longer feels grimy from dirt and grease. He doesn’t think about anything, just revels in how it feels to have the road dust run down the drain.

He steps out, wraps a towel around his waist, and ruffles his hair a bit. Then he gathers up the dirty clothes and goes back out into the room to grab something new to wear.

\--

Dante's not sure what surprises him most-- The fact that Nero is literally Adonis without a shirt or the fact that he's not a goddamn islander. His hair is white, and his skin even more pale, and his eyes are suddenly so much more _piercing_ than they'd been before.

All he knows is that he really, really wants to nail this kid.

Yeah, he's thought about nailing him now and again for not more than a few seconds, but this... This is different. His desire is carnal and it burns in his stomach, so much so that he refuses to look at Nero when he gathers his clean clothes. There are no smart remarks about being scrawny, no clips about him looking like dirt's been his sunscreen so far. Dante just _wants_ him.

The problem starts and ends with Nero.

Dante would definitely fuck the younger if he asked. Without a doubt. But Dante's concern is that Nero has used sex as a payment before, and the older doesn't really like making some poor kid feel used. He doesn't want Nero to feel like he only came back for sex, because that is definitely not why he came back.

So he lays on the couch with an arm behind his head praying he doesn't end up sporting a hard-on.

Even when Nero has his change of clothes on, the only thing Dante can think of is tearing them right off. Or maybe teasing him, he considers, letting his fingers brush up those smooth sides as he takes his shirt up with it. His belt would go next, but--

"Goddamnit," Dante hisses lowly, flipping channels to try to disguise his sexual frustration as nothing more than annoyance at the TV. 

He's so fucked.

\--

Dante is astonishingly quiet when Nero comes out. He would have expected some smartass comments about how white he is, or about how dirty he had been. Or anything really. But the room is quiet as he rummages through his meager possessions and retreats back into the bathroom.

Once changed, he flops onto one side of the bed and lets himself melt. Never in a million years would he have expected to get /two/ nights in a row in an actual bed after leaving home. Not this soon anyway. At least, not without some serious dick sucking. Or worse.

After several moments, he hears Dante swear and then the TV starts flipping channels. Nero props himself up on his elbows and looks over at where the older man is laying on the couch looking a bit strained. Nero cocks his head.

“Hey. This bed is actually big enough for two people, don’t try to sleep on the couch again. And I swear I won’t try and jump you or anything. Unless that’s what you want…” he jokes. Well, half jokes. He really wouldn’t mind sleeping with him. In fact, he’d probably enjoy it. Enjoy it a lot.

The heat he feels rising slightly on his cheeks and the slow burn down low confirms this.

\--

Oh god, there it is. There it is, the 'unless that's what you want'. This coy little shit has to know what he's doing, there's no way he can't. There's no way he _doesn't_ know that he basically just signed himself up for sex, there's _no way_ \--

"Hypothetically," Dante begins, "Let's say I do sleep with you. Let's say we are the best fucks we've ever had, okay. Now," he pauses, shutting off the TV so he can look Nero in the eye, "I'm gonna level with you. I feel like I'm a starving man looking at a fucking five course meal. The only problem is..."

Why is this so hard to spit out? It's just words, and Dante's never had an issue with being blunt. "Shit," he breathes, trying to find the words. Or at least get them ready to be said. "I just don't-- You obviously had a pretty shitty time before I came and got you. My concern is that you're gonna feel--"

Dante can't find the word. Used? Violated? Yes, but that's not the only thing that bothers him about this. "Because believe you me, kiddo, I would tear you apart if you let me."

\--

Wow. How… sweet.

Nero stares wide eyed through Dante’s entire stumbling speech. It’s so unlike the man to be so… unsure of himself. In the short time Nero’s known him, he can tell Dante doesn’t have a self confidence problem. In fact, he might even have the opposite. Over confidence.

And yet here he is, struggling to find words as he makes a _very_ obvious pass at Nero. An obvious pass filled with concern and caring. Something Nero has never had from a sexual partner. Because usually sex is an exchange of goods-I’ll make you feel good if you feed me and get me to the next truck stop.

But Dante is different. He gave Nero a place to sleep, money, food, and a new destination and never once asked for anything in return. Never tried to exploit what Nero offered more than once. And now he wants it, but not as payment. Not as an exchange. But just because he wants _Nero_. And he’s _asking_. Not taking.

Nero’s pretty sure something flutters in his chest.

He doesn’t know exactly how to answer Dante. Doesn’t know how to express that he isn’t offended or going to feel used or manipulated or anything. That he wants this, too.

So he swings his legs over the side of the bed, walks over to where Dante is sitting, and plops right down in his lap and kisses him. Hard and messy and beautiful.

\--

For the half second Nero stares at him, Dante nearly throws in the towel. He nearly says 'you know what, this was a bad idea let's pretend we never had this talk and let's pretend we're not already knee deep in lust for each other.'

But when he finds Nero in his lap, he's very glad he kept his mouth shut.

Kissing Nero is wonderful in and of itself. His kisses are harsh and inexperienced, but there's a fire in them nonetheless. It's all teeth and tongue, mixed with Dante's growls and hums as he teases at Nero's hips, letting his thumb nails drag across them lightly. 

Dante's hands find the smaller's knees and slide under them, lifting him up to lay him on his back on the bed. It creaks, as most motel beds do, and Dante laughs against Nero's lips. "This is gonna be fun," he breathes, "Guess we're gonna have to either stay horribly quiet or just full-ass it and scream at the top of our lungs."

Dante's lips are quick to attach to Nero's neck, sucking and biting as his hands linger near the hem of his shirt. "You just put these on. Sure you want 'em on the floor already?”

\--

 

Dante clearly knows what he’s doing. Not that Nero really expected any less, but it’s still nice. He matches Nero in whatever he gives, making little sounds and teasing his skin with the lightest brush of his nails and it’s got Nero _going_.

Then, suddenly, the world moves as Dante picks him up to lay him back down on the bed. “I’m not very quiet. I guess we’ll have to go with the latter.” He proves this the moment Dante starts attack his neck with perfect bites and sucks. Nero shivers and moans for it. He’s barely able to manage a nod at Dante’s flippant remark about his clothes.

“Just- ah-” instead of trying to make a sentence, Nero grabs one of Dante’s wrists and pushes his hand up under his shirt. He’s desperate and needy and he _knows_ this will be good. He _craves_ it. Lets out a long whine, just begging for _more_.

\--

Dante laughs again at just how eager Nero is, and growls harshly into his neck, sinking his teeth into his skin. "Hey," he murmurs, "Easy. I'm gonna take my time with you." 

And take his time he does.

Dante starts with Nero's belt, taking it off and tossing it to the floor. His hands travel up Nero's sides just as slowly as he fantasized, hands feeling his smooth sk--

Hold on. Are those...?

Dante slowly pulls Nero's tee off over his head, tossing it and connecting their lips once again. It's fierce, fiery, and the older pulls away to kiss down his chest and he tries hard not to pause at what he sees - he really does. But the sheer _quantity_ of the scars that lace Nero's ribs is... Horrifying.

But he doesn't ask.

Instead, he kisses at Nero's ribs before coming back up to lick at one of his nipples, eyes connecting with the younger's icy blues. "So," he breathes, "You're gonna have to tell me how you want this. I can take you bloody, if you like."

\--

The sound of Nero’s belt hitting the floor is loud in his ears. It’s like one of those moments when everything comes together. Then Dante’s hands start running up his ribs and there is the barest stutter. Nero tries to ignore it, not even sure if it was actually a stutter or just a natural pause in his movements.

When Dante gets Nero’s shirt off and actually stares for a moment, though, Nero can’t ignore it. His skin is pale, so from a distance, the scars are almost invisible, almost unnoticeable. Which is why he didn’t care about walking out in just a towel. But this close, they’re impossible to miss. Usually, partners either say he’s disgusting, call him names, or ask what the hell happened to him. Either way, it’s always a scene and it’s always uncomfortable. So he tries not to sigh as he waits for Dante to ask.

He doesn’t.

He just kisses up his ribs briefly before continuing on like nothing is different, makes Nero gasp when he licks at a nipple. This time, Nero can’t help the sigh he breathes, but this time in relief. He’s sure it’ll come up later, but he’s glad that he’ll have some time to prepare for it, and that it won’t ruin the moment they’re having now.

“Bloody, black and blue, make it hurt. I like it rough.” Nero says, poking his tongue between his teeth in a cheeky grin. “Think you can keep up, old man? Don’t want you to throw a hip or anything.” He hopes he gets hit for that comment. He’d love to see how Dante reacts to how he moans for it.

\--

"Make it hurt, eh?" Dante growls, "I can do that."

Nero's smartass little remark about throwing a hip earns him a pretty light-handed smack, and Dante grabs him by the throat. His fingers dig into the sides of his pale neck. "If you don't mind your fucking manners," he murmurs, "I might have to hit you a little harder."

Dante's hands deftly undo Nero's jeans, helping him kick them off as best he can. "'M gonna eat you alive, I swear to god, Nero--" The elder's hand drifts between Nero's legs and he grins, grinding his palm against him. "You gotten properly laid yet, kiddo? Had anyone fuck you like you deserve?"

His hand squeezes Nero's throat just for a moment, and he almost laughs. "Is this the only way you can come? One hand around your throat and the other between your legs."

\--

The resulting slap is hardly anything to get excited over, just a light little smack. But Nero still moans, still shows how much he likes it. Moans until he’s cut off by fingers around his neck and words that make him want to come right there.

“Dante-” His voice is soft and raspy, hard to speak passed the grip Dante’s got on his throat. When the older man starts grinding his palm against Nero, his hips thrust to meet it. The friction is fucking amazing. He feels a little light headed from choking and it just makes it better. He’s mindless. Still, he manages to be a smartass, “You trying to say… you think _you_ … you’re gonna fuck me properly?” It’s hard to talk but Nero thinks it’ll be worth it.

And the way Dante’s hand squeezes tighter makes him melt. He’s impossibly hard and his eyes close at the feeling. And his partner has it just right. It is the only way he’s really been able to come. And usually he has to do it himself. It’s not the same.

This is so much _better_.

Nero squirms a bit, trying simultaneously to put up a struggle while trying to find more friction for his aching cock. He draws in a shallow breath, “Dant- please…”

\--

What a little shit.

Dante cocks an eyebrow before cracking another slap across Nero's cheekbone - this time, much harder. Dante lets up lightly on his hold around the smaller's throat and stop his hand down south with a, " _Hey_. What the hell did I just say, you little shit? Mind. Your manners."

Begging already, huh? Dante grins hungrily down at Nero, holding back a chuckle. Nero's a hardass, sarcastic and a little rough around the edges, aaaaall until you get him in bed. Then he's a little masochist and, from what Dante can gather, nearly a damn slut.

"Please what?" he asks, continuing his teasing, "'Please fuck me', 'please let me suck you off', 'please finger me'. Come on, kiddo, use your words."

\--

The slap hits and it’s like an instant reaction when Nero _moans_. He likes the way Dante commands him, likes the way it makes him feel. He likes the way Dante looks at him like he is a meal to be devoured.

“Please. Fuck. Me.” He says slowly, wrapping his legs around Dante and pulling him close for emphasis. “Fuck me so hard I can’t sit on that pretty bike of yours. So hard I forget my own name.” He’d remember Dante’s though. Say it like a prayer. A litany to the heavens. That’s what he wants.

His hands travel under Dante’s shirt and up, pushing it off until his arms get in the way. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

\--

Dante assists Nero in getting his own shirt off, tossing it down to join with the rest of the younger's clothes. "You'd be correct on that." he mumbles, crashing their lips together in a mess of teeth and tongue. 

Dante curses himself internally in the middle of this, though-- He realizes that whatever lube and condoms he has left are in his bag. Across the room. 

Smooth move.

"Gimme one sec," he groans, standing with a wince as he realizes just how hard he's gotten. Walking with a stiffy is no fun, but Dante manages, and gets what he needs before haphazardly tossing them on the nearby nightstand for quick reach in about, eh, maybe ten minutes. "Okay, where was I?"

Dante grins and straddles Nero once again, this time higher up. "Think my belt's stuck. Wanna give me a hand?"

\--

Nero hates the way he mourns the loss of body heat when Dante pushes himself off of him. While he’s up though, Nero watches him. Watches the way he walks across the room stiff with his hardon to go digging around in his bag. He can’t help but crack a stifled giggle at how fucking ridiculous he looks.

But when he comes back, any thoughts of him looking ridiculous vacate Nero’s head and he practically shoves his crotch into Nero’s chest. Instead, Nero’s lips stretch into a grin, “Sure thing, pops. Wouldn’t want you injure yourself, what with the way you’re popping out of those jeans.”

His hands work at the belt buckle easily. This part he knows too well. Everyone always wants a blowjob, so Nero always gets to undo pants and swallow some guy’s gross dick. But he doesn’t think Dante’s dick will be gross. In fact, he has high hopes that it’ll be quite nice. Impressive, too, judging by the outline in his jeans.

When the belt finally comes loose, Nero doesn’t even bother pulling it free, rather starts opening the catch of Dante’s jeans so he can push all of it down together.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

\--

"I have never seen someone look so happy looking at a cock," Dante confesses, grinning down at Nero from his position. He really does almost seem impressed-- And it's almost fucking hilarious.

"Tell you what," he starts, "Blow me like you mean it, and I'll fuck you until you cry. Sound good?" Dante asks, cocking an eyebrow. Honestly, he really is curious to see just how else Nero can use that smartass little mouth of his, as well as eager to see said smartass suck dick like it was his only purpose in life.

\--

Nero grins.

This he can do.

He doesn’t even waste time vocalising an answer, just grabs Dante’s hips and pulls them closer. Closer so he can mouth from base to tip while weaving patterns with his tongue until he can circle it around the tip with a gentle suck. Cocksucking he can do. Cocksucking he’s good at.

And he proves this when his next move is to plunge all the way down and swallow around Dante’s cock. It’s big, it’s thick, it’s more of a challenge than he’s had to face yet. But Nero isn’t one to back down from a challenge. Especially not when he glances up and sees just how he’s affecting Dante. He makes a poor attempt at grinning around his mouthful of cock before backing off and starting a bit of a rhythm. More shallow this time, but definitely no less eager and no less messy.

The bitter taste of precome is seeping down his throat and he lives for it. Loves the soreness spreading in his jaw. Loves the way Dante’s hips buck, occasionally surprising him with how deep he goes. One time catches him particularly off guard and it makes him moan like a fucking whore.

Eventually, he leans back, pops off with a lewd, wet sound. He swipes half heartedly at his mouth with the back of his hand before staring up at the man kneeling over him, “Fuck my mouth like you mean it.”

\--

Nero's mouth is probably easily the best thing ever.

His tongue is soft and so are those lips, and even the first contact rips a small groan from his throat. It's almost like they've done this before, the way he's working Dante's dick, and it's certainly appreciated.

"Look at you," he whispers, chuckling darkly, "God you-- _Hah_ , you look so good. Really wanna fuck you, make you beg, make you scream," he pants, gripping Nero's hair and tugging back lightly. "And by that look on your face, that's what you want, too."

His hips keep twitching, and Dante feels himself hit the back of Nero's throat once or twice. And when the younger asks for his mouth to get fucked, well. It'd be rude to say no.

So Dante grips at Nero's hair and slowly begins to fuck into his mouth, rolling his hips and letting his cock slide across his tongue. He's certain a "Fuck, Nero--" slips out, and he's also certain a 'baby' comes out somewhere. But he can't tell because the velvet heat of Nero's mouth is all he can focus on.

Dante gets himself close, but he doesn't come. He sighs when he pulls out, scooting back down to kiss Nero as deeply as he can muster - and when he pulls back, he reaches to the nightstand to grab a condom and the lube. 

"Almost there, almost there," Dante's words are breathy, and his tone is almost... Comforting, even as he's trying to get Nero out of his boxers. He slicks his fingers up after, spreading Nero's legs gently and pressing against him. "Almost there."

\--

Dante’s hands in his hair and his cock moving down his throat feels so good, Nero hums and moans at it. And he won’t admit to how much he likes when Dante slip a ‘baby’ or two out. But he _whines_ when Dante pulls back. Whimpers at the loss and can feel how raw and scratchy his throat is. He does appreciate the kiss, though. Returns it with just as much fervency.

After Dante reaches for the lube and condom (thank god), his voice takes on this breathy quality, muttering over and over. It’s nice, hearing the sound. The words stop being words after the first time he says them, but Nero still finds grounding in the sound of it, the gentle way he speaks as he finishes undressing him and slicking up his fingers.

Those fingers are what bring Nero’s voice back. Moans and cries and whimpers spill freely from his lips while Dante fingers him. It’s a touch rough, but Nero wouldn’t want it any other way. He’s barely two finger down when Nero can’t take it anymore.

“C’mon. I’m good, please. Want more, want you.” His eyes are glassy with lust and he’s probably got the most desperate look on his face. His fingers dig into Dante’s shoulders as he implores him to _get on with it_.

\--

There is something so beautiful about the way Nero looks at him.

Dante almost feels his heart stop under that needy stare-- Nero's messy hair, his glossy eyes and flushed skin. He looks so goddamn /desperate/ in the most gorgeous way, and Dante can't help but to kiss him again. 

But he pulls back and slips his fingers out of Nero, whose whine is nearly pathetic. So Dante silences him by lining up against the smaller as quickly as he can before slowly pushing inside. Which nearly makes Dante choke because--

"You're tight as hell," he gasps, bridging himself over Nero with both arms on either side of him. "Tell me if y-- _Fuck_ \-- You want me to stop."

\--

“Don’t stop!” he practically shouts. Dante’s pushing into him and it burns but it’s _so good_. He doesn’t want to adjust, doesn’t want the euphoric burning to go away. He _wants_ it to hurt. Wants the rush it gives him.

His hands wander over Dante, sliding in the slick sweat over hard muscles. Palms brush over nipples, then run over shoulders, down arms. He settles with scratching his nails hard down Dante’s back when his angle changes. He keens and arches and squirms as Dante hits his prostate.

“ _Fuck_ , Dante. _Harder_.” He knows he’s hoarse, probably hard to understand. But he needs more. His hips snap upward, trying to drive the pace, trying to beg with his body for more, faster, harder. “Please…”

If he closes his eyes, he almost thinks he’s back home, begging for it all to end. But this is different. Better. It doesn’t hurt in a bad way, but in the best way. It doesn’t make him feel dirty or sick, but alive and wanted. So he keeps his eyes open, drinks in the way Dante looks looming over him. Commits it to memory. Tries not to think that he could stand getting used to the sight.

\--

"'M not gonna," Dante grits out, letting out a heavy sigh when he bottoms out inside Nero. "Fuck," he laughs breathily, "You really do want this, don't you?" 

So Dante gives it to him. He gives Nero what he wants, starting with a slow roll of his hips, eyes focused on the ones below him. "Shhh, I'm gonna get there, just give me a second. Slow down, patience is a virtue," he mumbles, pushing back into the smaller slowly. "Take it easy." 

But eventually, Nero's begs and pleas get to him, and he picks up the pace, snapping his hips forward with a groan. He knows when he's done something right, because suddenly, Nero is begging him for more like he's never wanted anything else in his life.

"Right here?" Dante murmurs hoarsely, pressing his forehead to Nero's as one hand wraps around the boy's throat. His hips snap forward again, brushing his prostate again for emphasis-- And the noise Nero makes is beautiful.

"I figured," he grunts, "You get real squirmy when I touch right there." Dante laughs, squeezing the sides of his throat a little harder and thrusting a little more desperately. "Can't wait to see you come."

\--

He likes the way Dante talks to him, likes the way he draws attention even when Nero’s head is foggy with pleasure from the hand around his neck and the cock slamming into his prostate. If Dante can’t wait, well, he won’t have to for much longer with the way they’re going.

His head feels light from the way Dante’s fingers squeeze coupled with near all his blood rushing to his weeping cock, begging for attention. But his fingers are locked in place buried in Dante’s back and he’s trapped by the intimate stare they’re giving one another in this position.

And he realises he doesn’t need to be touched.

It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had. He shudder with a long drawn out moan as the built up pressure finally releases and it’s heavenly. His mind goes blank and he just feels warm and sated. Like he’s floating and safe. He forgets for a while where he is, why he’s there, what he’s running from. And he simply rides the waves of euphoria as Dante fucks him into oblivion.

\--

Watching Nero come was an experience.

Dante watches as he gets closer-- Getting louder with each thrust of his hips, getting more desperate and digging those claws of his into his back hard enough to almost draw blood. Not that the older's complaining-- Oh no.

The sting of Nero's nails feels good against his back, and the tight heat of Nero himself even better. And when the younger below him comes, that good feeling is only intensified. 

With a strangled "Nero-" Dante comes, hips stuttering as he buries himself as deep as he can in Nero, releasing. He thanks god for condoms- Because he's pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to pull out even if said god himself commanded it.

Afterwards, though, it's silent. Save for mixed pants and groans, it's quiet. It's nice. "Hey. Look at me, kiddo. You good down there?"

\--

Nero comes to awareness in the quiet afterglow. The air is hot and Nero’s skin feels sticky. He sits in quiet stillness as his breathing comes down.

Usually, after sex, Nero would slip away to the bathroom or off to some new adventure. He’s not one to stick around and cuddle. No point in forming attachment, no one ever cares enough anyway.

Dante’s voice startles him slightly and makes him crack his eyes open to look up, “Yeah, ‘m good. Great.” Seeing Dante sparks something somewhere in Nero’s chest completely unfamiliar to him. It makes his heart pound uncomfortably and his body feel oddly warm.

He’s not sure he likes it.

So he does the only thing he knows to do, he tries to escape. Without another word he tries to roll away, maybe lock himself in the bathroom, or put some pants on and take a walk.

\--

Dante usually isn't much of a cuddler, honestly. Usually, it's 'let's have another drink and see about round two', not 'let's snuggle up like we're freezing to death'. But this time, after Nero's affirmative, Dante feels... Conflicted, he supposes.

Dante moves away from Nero to stretch and clean himself up so he can go the _fuck_ to sleep, but as he looks back, the younger seems almost unsettled. "Woah, ditching already? Wasn't that bad, was it? I usually get rave reviews over my bedroom skills." 

His words are humorous, but his face doesn't show anything close to a smile. He doesn't want to be concerned, he doesn't want to fucking care--

But the fact is that he does. Shit happens.

"Slow down, Speedy Gonzales. At least chill out for a second."

\--

Of course Dante stops him. Of course he listens. There’s something solid between them that Nero can’t explain and it’s scaring him but he’s hopeless against it. Nero falls back into the mattress with a heavy sigh and a lazy head roll toward Dante. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s sure his eyes say plenty.

He’s tired and broken and his situation is catching up with him. He’s alone, with about a hundred bucks left from the poker money, and no where to go. No one to go to and no destination. No goal. Just a burning need to be away. Away from the hurt and the torture of being in a house with his mother and her shitty as fuck husband.

And maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s this crippling loneliness and lack of direction that is pushing Nero headfirst into Dante. The first person since he left to actually be a decent human being. The first person to offer a real step forward. A chance with this stupid runaway dream he barreled headfirst into.

Yeah, maybe it’s just that.

\--

Dante isn't sure what he sees in Nero's eyes, but he knows it's not good.

Nero is hiding in his own head. That much, Dante can tell. He's done it before-- He's seen hundreds of others do it, too. Swim in their minds, pick themselves apart to try to find answers they know they don't have, hurting themselves worse in the process.

Oh yeah, Dante's been there.

He lays beside Nero, studying him-- He knows it's likely unnerving. But he can't help it. There's something about the way Nero disappears sometimes that almost makes him want to open up that pretty head and see the wiring within. But he doesn't. He just talks.

"Y'know," Dante begins, "When I was a teenager, I had a friend. As you do when you're nineteen, I guess. Her name was Mary-- But shit, don't call her that, she'd have beheaded you. Everyone called her Lady. Now Lady," he pauses, trying to find the words. "She... Her childhood was like ours. Fucked up. I'm not gonna disrespect her by spilling her life story to you, but she and PTSD were the best of friends."

"Miss Lady had a lot of problems. And no one knew how bad it was until someone found her propped up against a bathtub with blood all over the floor. Cracked open wrists, hips, ribs, you name it. Needless to say, she didn't make it. Killed herself." Dante lets out a sigh and some sort of tired smile, shutting his eyes.

"And everyone was ruined. More people came than expected. Tears all around," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "And if you're wondering what the point of this is," Dante says, this time even lower. He reaches a hand out to trace over Nero's ribs with a, "If I ever catch you doing this again, I'm gonna snatch you up so fast it'll make your head spin. Okay?"

\--

Nero’s not ready for Dante to lay down next to him. Not ready for the warm heat and the comfort it brings.

He’s certainly not ready for the words spilling from Dante’s mouth.

He knows pretty much where it’s going the moment Dante starts with ‘had.’ Doesn’t stop his eyes from getting wet and tear tracks forming on his cheeks as he stares at Dante through the telling. Nero’s been there. He’s come so fucking close to doing exactly the same thing. Truly trying to die. He wanted to die, when he was younger. When his dad left, when his mom met the asshole she’s with now, when he started getting closer to Nero. He really did want to die. Wanted to cut deeper, make a mess of the floor, somewhere his mother would find him.

But then he’d think about Kyrie and Credo and how he still needed to be there for them. And he’d realise that dying meant that the evil people in his life would win. Didn’t make him want to die any less, just gave him a reason not to.

And then Dante goes and ends it with that. Brings it back to Nero. It’s a good thing he’s already crying, because otherwise the _care_ Dante touches him with would do it. Even still, Nero scoots in closer, buries his face in Dante’s neck. “I’m sorry. About your friend.”

\--

Dante smiles at Nero's apology, pulling him closer and burying his nose in Nero's hair. "Hey, shhhshsh, I didn't mean to make you cry, yeesh," he chuckles, closing his eyes again. "I'm just saying. Moral of the story, kid, people are gonna miss you."

Dante doesn't say anything more, and instead just lays with Nero in a... Wet silence. He can feel the younger's tears on his skin but he hardly minds-- Hell, he almost feels bad for making him bust out the waterworks. But it was something Dante's sure needed saying.

But he breaks the silence with a sly grin, accompanied by a, "Told you I could fuck you like you deserve, you mouthy brat."

\--

After a long silence, leave it to someone like Dante to completely ignore the heavy mood and shift it back to sex. Though, the shift is definitely not unwelcome. It brings levity back between them and sets Nero at ease. He scoffs in reply.

Yet he still doesn’t pull away. Just stays where he is, breathing Dante in. It’s a while before he feels like his eyes aren’t red anymore and he’s ready to face to room again. He pulls back a bit and looks up to Dante, “So what’s in the plans? What are your intentions for the city that never sleeps?”

Speaking of sleep, Nero is exhausted. After the fucking of a lifetime and way more emotions than Nero was ready to deal with pretty much ever, he’s feeling the draw of sleep.

\--

It's a long time before they exchange words again, but Dante doesn't mind. He likes the smell of Nero's hair, likes the feel of his skin. It's all good.

But it's not unlike Nero to start asking questions, but again, Dante doesn't mind. In fact, it's almost more welcome than silence. So when the younger asks about his plans, he smiles and says, "Honestly? No idea."

"I'm mostly here - or was, I guess - for the ladies and the gambling. But now, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be up to."

\--

There’s something about the way Dante holds him that just feels good. How he smells, how he feels. It’s just… comfortable.

“Was? Now? What’s changed?” Nero asks alongside a sleepy yawn. He’s pretty sure he already knows the answer. He also isn’t sure if he wants to hear it. But he asks anyway.

Before he can hear the answer though, he passes out. It’s not often he feels comfortable enough to sleep so soundly and dreamlessly. No nightmares of home plague him as he naps. No memories of his stepfather coming into his room or his mother throwing an empty bottle of vodka in his direction. Just peacefully blank sleep.

\--

Dante goes to answer, and when he looks down, he realizes Nero's eyes are closed. He smiles, burying his nose back into the smaller's hair and entangling his fingers in it as well. 

And in the morning, they realized just how fun their first adventure together would be. 

Months pass between Vegas and assfuck nowhere, Colorado. It's getting colder, and both Dante and Nero have begun to pack on the layers in order to stay warm on Rebellion. Dante hasn't asked for his jacket back-- And instead rewears an old one.

They have a lot of sex. A _lot_. There is not one moment alone spent without sweat and moans, gasps and sometimes, yelps. Dante loves to fuck him and Nero seems like he loves getting fucked, so they have a helluva lot of fun. 

Until, that is, one late Friday. 

Dante goes by the corner store for - laugh all you want - condoms and another bottle of Jack. It's cold, his hands are shoved in his pockets, arms close by his sides. His boots make the light snow beneath crunch, and it's satisfying even as he walks up to the curb it's sat on.

Dante's eyes scan the doors. Ads for smokes - which will also be purchased - ads for booze. Camera warnings, the same old missing kids.

Amber alerts. Huh.

There's only a few of them. A younger boy, an older girl. Beside her is one that looks familiar, almost like--

Nero.

That's even the name under the poster. Dante pulls the door open with his brows furrowed, snatching his specific poster down to look at it. It was Nero, it was his picture and his description. Sixteen. A fucking minor.

Dante steps back outside, folding up the paper and shoving it into his jacket pocket. Burying his face in his hands, he paces slowly, thinking.

He's a minor. A child. Dante was buying condoms and _alcohol_ so he could go back to his _harbored runaway_ to fuck him. He's been fucking him. A literal, actual kid.

So he goes back to the motel, forgetting about whatever had been on his list. His first words upon entering the motel were nothing but "You're a goddamn liar, you know that?"

\--

Nero spends months with Dante. Several long wonderful months of sex and gambling and living from one hotel to the next. Once or twice even just laying out in the middle of nowhere and sleeping under the stars. Those were the best nights for Nero. He always felt freer, wrapped up in Dante with no ceiling to make him feel trapped.

Months pass like this, and it’s the best time Nero has had in his life. There’s no one to answer to and Nero gets them plenty of spending cash. Which he can use to acquire the necessities. Clothes, condoms, food. And the occasional surprise.

This would be a good surprise.

Some weeks ago, they’d happened across a little town with not much in it. But Nero went out exploring a bit and found a nice little clothing store. That sold thigh highs. He knew Dante would enjoy the way it hugs his calves and emphasises his thighs. So he bought them and waited. And now was perfect. Dante went out to restock their condoms and alcohol, so Nero takes the chance and dons the thigh highs, tosses the jacket over his naked shoulders to complete the look.

And he waits.

Never could he have anticipated the angry way Dante storms in with accusations on his lips. Nero immediately goes into defensive mode. He gets _angry_. He wraps the jacket closer around himself, forming a shield while covering himself up. “What the fuck, Dante? What’s wrong with you?”

Nero does a mental list for anything he’s said in the last couple days that could have possibly been a lie, but he comes up empty. He can’t remember ever actually lying to the man. Which is… unusual for him. He never lied.

But he didn’t tell the whole truth either.

Shit.

\--

"Well," Dante begins, fishing into his pocket and tossing the folded up poster at Nero. "Let's start with that. That's what's fucking wrong with me."

Dante runs both hands through his hair once more, letting them fall to his sides with a clap. "So when were you gonna tell me you were fucking sixteen? When were you gonna tell me I've been fucking a _kid_? When were you gonna tell me you have _school_ to go to and parents and shit? Huh?"

Dante scans Nero once before speaking again. "You're gonna get my ass tossed in fucking prison! I already am neck deep in fucking warrants, _kid_ , you know that! And you know what this is gonna get me charged for? A _sex offense_!"

\--

Nero catches the wrinkled paper and unfolds it.

And freezes.

An older school picture of him, looking entirely perturbed, is blown up almost to the point of unrecognition in the center of the page, with his name and a short description underneath. White hair, 5’ 7”, sixteen.

Someone is looking for him.

He never thought anyone would look for him, report him missing. It’s not like his mom gives a shit. And his stepdad only wants one thing from him. Kyrie and Credo are the only ones that care and they know at least some of why he ran. He can’t imagine they’d try to get him back. So it has to be his parents.

Fuck.

“‘M not sixteen.” Nero mutters. Then looks up at Dante, wide eyed and _scared_ , “The poster is wrong, I’m not sixteen. Don’t get your hopes up, though. Seventeen. Still a minor. Still jailbait.” He pauses and takes a deep shuddering breath. “I never thought anyone would come looking for me.” His eyes burn and his vision is going misty and he doesn’t want to cry but he’s so _angry_ and _scared_. The last thing he wants is to go home. Or to get Dante in trouble. Or be separated from Dante. Because as much as he doesn’t really want to admit it, to himself or otherwise, he cares about him.

He might even love him.

\--

"Big fucking difference!" Dante yells, growling in frustration. "I can still get locked up for a long ass time, especially if your fucking _parents_ press kidnapping charges!" 

He's angry. Dante has only been this pissed once before, and it was... Nevermind. But he continues to pace the room back and forth slowly. If Nero's parents found out and pressed charges or - god forbid - filed a restraining order, then he'd be without--

"Obviously you weren't thinking at all! Nero, what the fuck? You ran from your _parents_ , they're probably worried fucking sick!"

\--

As Dante yells, and paces, and yells some more, Nero’s anger builds. He’s hurt, he’s scared, and he doesn’t know what to do. But it’s the last things Dante says, that his parents would be _worried_ about him, that really pisses him off.

“You don’t know _anything_!” Nero shouts, eyes brimming wet with tears. “You think my parents will be _worried_? Ha! Not fucking likely. I don’t even have a father. Walked out before I could form memories. No idea who he is or where he is. And mom. She doesn’t care about me. She’s constantly drunk, high, or both and if I’m in the way I get hit. Hard. Over and over and fucking over again. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to pretend my ribs weren’t broken. And then her fucking ass of a husband-”

Nero chokes on his words. The tears flow freely now. He thinks about the rest of his story, how much he doesn’t want to go there. But judging by the way Dante still looks livid, what he’s said so far isn’t enough. Isn’t enough to justify putting the man in danger of being arrested for sex crimes, among other things.

He takes a deep breath, still shaky with tears, and sits on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around himself. His eyes are fixed on the floor, just in front of Dante’s feet. He can’t face looking at the man with what he’s about to say.

“My stepdad. He… Mom started dating him when I was probably around eight, married him a year or so later. The next _fucking_ night he came into my room. He’s so much worse than mom. Mom I can avoid, stay out of her way and keep her happy with vodka. He never stops, I can’t get away from him.” He sighs and waves the poster a bit, “Still can’t, apparently.”

There’s a long silence filled only with Nero’s pathetic sniffles. Then, so quietly it’s almost inaudible, “I can’t go back there.”

\--

Dante doesn't bat an eyelash when Nero starts to yell back-- In fact, he expected it. Saw it coming from a mile away. But what he didn't see coming was Nero's explanation, his reasons for getting the fuck out of dodge. Dante makes a point even still to keep mad dogging Nero, though - drunks for parents or no, it wasn't worth serving time.

However.

Nero starts to choke, and Dante feels his gut wrench hard enough to nearly make him puke. "Easy," he mumbles, "You'll make yourself sick if you keep choking like that."

Eight years old, huh? Seventeen now. That's... A lot for a kid to deal with. To be fair, he can see why Nero didn't just tell him off the bat why he was running. It's... Humiliating. Degrading. Dante gets that.

Dante also doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't know how to say he's sorry for being a dick, sorry for making assumptions.

So instead, he checks his keys for his pockets, and heads right back out the door.

\--

He doesn’t look up again until he hears the door slam. And when he does, he stares at that door in disbelief. Stares at the spot where Dante once stood. Where the only person he’s been able to truly connect to had just walked away. Left him alone in a hotel room in Colorado without anything.

Sure, he’s got his shit, clothes some money, whatever. But none of that matters. Not really. He’s alone. He has no one.

It’s back to hitchhiking on the freeway and paying with sex.

But right now, he just wants to change. Put on something to cover himself up. So he does. Moves mechanically to pull on jeans and an old shirt. Tosses the jacket in the corner, can’t take the smell. Can’t handle that it just slams reality back down, reminds him how alone he is.

It’ll be harder to get around now. There’s no telling how far out those posters are, but he’s a minor, good chance they’re all over the country by now. People will recognise him, even from a shitty old picture. Maybe he should dye his hair. Either way, he should get the fuck out of dodge sooner rather than later. But traveling will be hard. Anyone could recognise him, call the cops, send him home.

He doesn’t want to go home.

\--

Dante has no idea where he's going, he just knows he's gonna need a drink. 

So he storms outside, unsure if he's pissed at Nero or his parents. He's not sure if he's pissed at himself for not asking, not sure if he's pissed at himself for not immediately getting it upon seeing his self-inflicted scars. He just knows that he's pissed.

Dante fires up Rebellion, and he rides. He rides until he's almost frozen to his bike-- Rides until he finds a bar. Which isn't hard. The Cognac is nice, and so is the Absinthe, and it helps him to think properly.

And upon thinking properly, he realizes he owes Nero a big fat fucking apology.

Dante regrets yelling. Mostly-- He doesn't regret telling Nero off about being a minor. What he _does_ regret is assuming his home life was just fine.

Because honestly, it's hypocritical as fuck.

So he goes back. Dante goes back, wants to make sure Nero's still kicking. Because in complete truth, Dante has no idea what he'd do if he found Nero like he and Trish found--

It's one am when Dante enters their room again.

\--

The room is paid for already, so Nero doesn’t leave. He wants to. He wants to take off so he doesn’t have to wake up alone in this room. He wants to run far away so that maybe he can escape the constant thought of the knife Dante bought him after Vegas. It’s right there, in his bag. Easy to get to. Sharp. It’d be so easy-

No.

He can’t go down that road again. It’s not worth it. He’s been so good. It’s been so long. But he hasn’t had urges like this in a while. So he does his best to ignore it. Throws his bag in the bathroom, out of his sight, away from him. Then he curls up in the bed and tries to sleep. Doesn’t. But he tries.

He never expects the door to open. Nearly throws something at what he thinks is an intruder. But his eyes take in the dark, blurry outline of a familiar man. Nero sits bolt upright immediately and stares straight at him. Doesn’t speak. Just stares. He can’t think of what to say, how to react. All he can begin to process is Dante is _here_. He came _back_. For the second time since he met him, Dante _came back_.

But for all Nero knows, he just forgot something and came back in the middle of the night hoping Nero would be gone or asleep. So he doesn’t speak. Just stares at the man he’s afraid is about to walk out on him again. Walk out and never come back.

\--

Dante looks over when Nero sits up, and he sighs. Baby, baby, baby.

"Hey," Dante whispers, shrugging his iced jacket off. "Don't pass back out, I gotta talk to you." he says quietly, stripping down to just his boxers so he could settle in next to him. His clothes are tossed on a chair, and he pets Nero's hair before flopping down.

He feels so bad.

Dante doesn't force Nero to come close. Only pets his hair, runs his thumb along his cheekbone, under his eye. "So I figure," Dante breathes, "That for once, I should be a fucking man and apologize. You didn't deserve that shit. I don't know your home life."

Dante has to ask.

"Lemme see your arms. You better be clean."

\--

Nero freezes on instinct when Dante sits down. Follows stiffly when he lays down. Lets him touch him, but doesn’t move closer. Listens to him apologise.

Should have expected the question.

So he stands, peels off his clothes down to his boxers. He’s still quiet, still tense, still convinced this isn’t going to last. He holds his arms out, turns a slow circle. It’s dark, but he’s sure Dante can see there aren’t any fresh wounds. Doesn’t bother mentioning how close he was, how much he wanted to.

When he puts his arms down, everything just sinks in. The emotional rollercoaster he’s been fighting with all day suddenly crashes down around him and he practically collapses back into the bed. He doesn’t even care when he literally melts against Dante, tears streaming silently down his face. He’s cold, but solid and real and _present_. He’s not running away. Not for now, at least. For now, he can just breathe and hope he hasn’t totally fucked everything up.

\--

Dante watches Nero as he proves himself, and he smiles contently when he sees that he's unmarred. "Hey, good job. Proud of you, I know I freaked you the fuck out."

When Nero collapses, Dante feels his heart break.

"Hey, hey. Shhh, baby, it's okay. I had to go for a ride, I didn't want to keep bitching you out. I had to sort my shit out," Dante breathes, entangling his fingers in Nero's hair. "I'm not gonna let you go back to that house. We can't borderline fuck in public anymore, but..."

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I'm gonna keep you safe."

\--

Nero lets Dante comfort him, cries silently into his chest the whole time. His breath catches when Dante calls him baby. But it’s the last thing he says, that he’ll keep him safe. That makes him sob. He clings tight to the man, feeling very much the lost child that he realises he very much is.

It takes probably an hour before his face dries and the headache starts in. Before his sniffles stop and he just starts to feel completely exhausted. He waits a few more beats in which he just stops, before pulling back and looking up at Dante, searching his eyes in the dark.

“I’m… I-I’m sorry. That I didn’t t-tell you. I-”

Nero tucks his face back into Dante’s chest. He doesn’t even actually say the next few words. More like he breathes them, lips moving against Dante’s skin.

“I think I might love you.”

\--

Dante isn't usually the one to comfort the crying person in the room, so the longer Nero cries, the more ill-equipped for this he feels. But he does what he can, even if it means shoving his own feelings of awkwardness away. Nero needs him, so you bet your ass he'll be there.

When that poor kid comes up, he looks like a hot mess, even in the dark. Eyelashes are wet, he's still shaking. So Dante lets him stare, pushing the hair out and away from Nero's pretty blues, trying to scan him.

Nothing. Nero is unreadable.

Which Dante likes. Makes him a wildcard, unpredictable. And it'd be sexy if he weren't having a complete fucking breakdown. "It's all good," Dante whispers, "Mostly, anyway. We just... Gotta be really careful."

Nero says something that Dante doesn't catch. Obviously it's not important-- If it were, the younger would've definitely put that loud mouth of his to use. So Dante ignores it, and instead says, "Hey. Get some sleep. Got one helluva trip tomorrow."

\--

Nero nods. Careful. He can do careful. As long as Dante stays and he can hold himself together, as long as he doesn’t have another stupid fucking breakdown. Careful he can do.

And when he suggests sleep, he nods again. Lets himself get lost in the comfort he thought he’d lost. Lets himself be held as his exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep.

\--

Dante doesn't sleep.

He's worried. Mostly for Nero's current mental state-- If he reacted like that to Dante being gone without warning for a couple hours...

So he stays up. Dante lays awake, thinking. Thinks about what he could do to ease Nero's... What seems like _separation_ anxiety. And anxiety in general. Poor kid can't get medicated, and he doubts anything like stress balls or whatever the fuck is gonna work. Dante remembers his mother-- When she would get nervous, she'd often fidget with her wedding ring.

Huh.

Dante also remembers something he came across in a pawn shop once, when he first purchased Ebony and Ivory. It was a (very expensive) platinum ring with a moving inner band. At the time, the elder had thought nothing of it, it was just another trinket. But now...

Hours pass. Dawn comes. The Colorado sun peaks over the mountains and illuminates the morning snow, and Dante keeps his eyes fixed out the window. 

He nudges Nero, albeit softly. Why not have a fucking date at six am? Yolo. "Hey," he whispers, rolling Nero onto his back, pressing kisses to his neck, "Check that view. Not me-- The one outside."

\--

It’s something like asscrack o’clock when Dante wakes him. Kisses at his neck and whispers in his ear bring him into awareness. He struggles to look at Dante, and scoffs when he tries to imply Nero thinks he’s the view.

But the view is stunning.

The sun is just starting to show its face over the mountains. The snow is sparkling, untouched after some snowfall overnight. There’s a lake somewhere in the distance with a thin layer of ice covering it and reflecting the landscape around it. It’s breathtaking. And it _almost_ makes Nero forget everything that happened. All the emotions.

Still, after sleeping, Nero does feel better. Less on edge, less at a breaking point. So he rolls back onto his side, props himself up on his arm, “There a reason I’m awake so early?”

\--

"I was thinking," Dante sighs, letting Nero get up. "View looks nice, you look nice. Watch the sun come up or somethin'." he suggests, sighing through his nose. God, Nero is so fucking gorgeous even when the lights aren't on and Dante can hardly _see_ him. He's just gorgeous.

It'd be so easy to love him.

"I'll even make you coffee. Can't have you passing out just yet."

Oh god, I'm sorry.

The longer Dante looks at him, the more he regrets yelling. He made _Nero_ of all people _cry_. Made him cry, panic. He wants to keep apologizing until Nero begs him to shut the fuck up. But like usual, the words are stuck to the walls of his throat like glue, and when he licks his lips to speak he can only--

"Sound good?"

\--

Something about the way Dante speaks, and sighs, that makes Nero think there’s a bit more to it than that. And there’s something in the way Dante looks at him that makes him feel… wanted. And not in the creepy predatory way his stepdad looks at him. But in a much more pleasant way. A way that makes him feel light.

“Coffee. Yeah. Sooner rather than later if you want to keep me awake for this.”

He wants to reach out, wants to make some kind of connection. But something stops him. Something keeps him from bridging the odd gap that seems to have formed between them after the previous day. He wants to put it behind them. But he can’t. There’s still a tense awkwardness in the way he holds himself, the way he watches Dante, the way he speaks. There’s something that is going to take a while to fade away. It won’t just disappear overnight.

Still, Nero can try.

\--

Dante nods, sitting up as quickly as he can manage and tossing the covers back, running one hand through his hair as he takes lethargic steps toward the single cup coffee maker, "I'll even give you the honor of first cup."

It's shitty coffee, but it's also not complete shit. It's just caffeine, something he and Nero are going to need for this little adventure. Dante leans back on the counter, wrists inward facing Nero, whistling something to the tune of Twisted Nerve. 

He continues even as he hands the younger his coffee and goes to make his own. "Motel sludge, courtesy of me."

\--

Nero almost falls back asleep while Dante makes the coffee. But he manages not to. Focuses on Dante with an occasional glance out the window.

He’s thankful for the first cup, even if the stuff tastes more like motor oil than coffee. He sucks down half his cup in one go, not bothering to wait for it to cool. It’ll take a bit for the caffeine to really set in, but just being able to drink the stuff feels like it’s helping.

By the time Dante’s finished making his own cup, Nero’s practically drained his already and is sat crosslegged on the bed, staring out the window.

\--

Dante watches Nero as his own coffee brews, eyes flicking from him to out the window, and back again. Nero's bedhead is absolutely wild, and Dante laughs to himself - the back is sticking straight up, and he half wonders if Nero's even noticed yet. Then again, his own likely isn't much better.

"Yo, sleepyhead," Dante chuckles, whistling and pointing to his own head. "You sleep with hairspray in or somethin'?"

Joking won't fix what he's done, but it should at least make things less tense.

Once his own coffee is done, he takes it up and goes to sit beside Nero, elbows resting on his knees. "It's nice, right? Colorado's rad as fuck."

\--

Nero allows himself to smile at the joke. He’s well aware of how ridiculous his hair can look in the mornings. He looks back over to Dante, “I could ask the same thing.” The casual poking fun feels like a return to normalcy. Or at least a step in the right direction.

When Dante sits down, Nero, ever so slightly, leans toward him. He keeps his gaze staring out the window, but he tries to be closer to Dante. At least a little. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

\--

"So," Dante says, "I'm thinking I got a surprise for you today. Bit of a, uh... Let's call it a detour," he grins, taking a sip of his coffee. "You'll love it, I swear."

Dante looks over to Nero, and he smiles. There's something about this kid that's... Strong, he supposes. Aside from physically, he's got that weird aura thing and Dante's not sure if it's his attitude or his eyes.

"But like I said, surprise. After we've had coffee and made out."

\--

Nero doesn’t know what to think about Dante’s so called surprise. It could literally be anything. From some stupid attraction like ‘World’s Biggest Mug of Beer’ to something like another poker game. The assurance that Nero would love it does little to narrow down the options. So, he pushes it to the back of his mind.

Instead, he looks over to Dante with a raised brow, amused, “Well then, finish that coffee. I could use some making out.”

\--

Dante doesn't bother finishing his coffee. 

He doesn't really think twice. It feels like it's natural, honestly, the way Nero fits under him-- Dante's had sex with a lot of people and made out with even more, but none of them had the same vibe as Nero. Not the same fire. They're all... Boring in comparison.

"Y'know," Dante says once he's pulled away from Nero's lips and moved to his neck, "I could shower with you. So you don't get scared."

\--

Nero loves kissing Dante.

It’s all fire, passion, no thinking. It’s easy and simple and _fucking_ good. Natural.

When Dante suggests showering with him, he wants to tell him off. Wants to say he can handle himself and he doesn’t need a pervy man to stand in the shower with him to watch over him. Doesn’t need the reassurance. But then he remembers last night, his breakdown, everything. He realises that Dante’s presence might actually help a lot.

Doesn’t mean he won’t be flippant about it, “Think you can keep your hands to yourself, old man?”

\--

"Scout's honor," Dante says with a sly smile, pecking Nero just once before moving off of him to stand. "Although my hands have a mind of their own. So just try to ignore 'em if they do wander."

Dante starts stripping before he even gets to the bathroom-- Shirt tossed on the floor as he heads back to get the water running. "I'll even make it all romantic and shit," he calls, laughing. "Boxed wine and whatever. Wish we had fake roses or somethin'."

\--

Nero realises the way he watches Dante start undressing is entirely hypocritical, but he also knows that Dante wouldn’t mind. In fact, it’s probably on purpose on some level. A tease for him.

He smiles at Dante’s attempt at romance. While not necessarily conventional, it is sincere. Even welcome. So he sets down his mug, strips down the last of his clothes, and follows Dante into the bathroom to the sound of running water.

It’s Nero that can’t really seem to keep his hands to himself, as it turns out. But it’s more or less innocent. A hand on Dante’s arm, a lean into his side, a peck on his lips. Just little reminders that he’s real, in front of him.

Nero holds up the soap, “You do me, I’ll do you?”

\--

The hot water feels good - really good. Dante can feel motel dust come off, can feel the tension wash straight down the fucking drain and holy /shit/, it's satisfying. He's trying to keep his own touches innocent for the time being, between petting Nero's neck and  
just brushing his hand.

Nero's suggestion, however, makes him cackle like a twelve year old.

"I'll do you, you don't even have to ask-- Me, though, I gotta deny that. _Not_ a bottom, and that's the one thing I'm not gonna try."

\--

Nero smacks him in the chest. He should have expected that. Probably did on some level. Of course he would turn that into a joke instead of just taking the soap. So Nero pushes it into Dante’s chest, “Just… goddamnit, Dante.”

He turns his back on the man, expecting him to wash him. “Shut up and wash me or I’ll do it myself.”

\--

"Okay, okay," Dante sighs, taking the soap from Nero. He starts with his hair, watching the suds bubble up as Dante's fingers work their non-sexual magic. "Buzzkill."

Dante's favorite part, however, comes after the rinse and with cheap lavender-scented hotel body wash.

"Should I start from the bottom up or the top down?" Dante asks cheekily, already starting to lather up his hands. "Let's go with top down, shall we?" 

Dante's hands start on the sides of Nero's neck, moving down over his shoulders. Dante presses up against Nero's back with a, "I did like those thigh highs, though."

\--

Nero sighs and closes his eyes while Dante washes his hair. The fingers in his hair feel so wonderful and he leans back into the touch. Probably even makes a few sounds now and then.

When Dante starts getting cheeky, Nero frowns and almost tells him off. But the way his fingers massage soap into his shoulders stops him.

He goes to tell him off again when Dante presses up against him, but the comment on the thigh highs stops him this time. He smiles instead, "Didn't think you'd even noticed."

\--

"'Course I noticed," Dante mumbles, "I was just being a little bastard at the time. But yeah, I liked 'em."

Dante decides to start on Nero's back, and kisses the sopping mess that is his hair. His hands keep travelling down, over his hips and then down just under his navel-- Dante's just trying to get a rise out of him now. "Think you'll do a do-over for me sometime?"

\--

Nero ignores the way Dante's hands feel over him. The way they move lower, run over his body easily with the help of soap and water. The way he feels pressed up against his back. 

Well, he tries anyway. 

Nero grabs one of Dante's hands before they can go any lower, "Maybe if you _behave_."

\--

Dante groans in obvious disappointment, moving his hands _right_ back up where they belong. "No fun allowed as posted by Nero." 

Sensing that getting laid is not in his future, Dante finishes washing Nero up, even doing him the honor of conditioning his hair. How's that for romance?

"I'm serious when I said you'd enjoy my surprise," Dante says, "And for the record, getting us piss wasted isn't part of the surprise. Unless you want it to be, because it can be arranged."

\--

When Dante finishes washing Nero, he motions for them to switch positions so he can return the favour. He starts with his hair. He’s slightly perturbed that he has to raise himself up on his toes to be able to comfortably reach the top of the elder’s head.

“How about we hold off on getting piss wasted and we might be in control of our faculties enough to consent later. Sound good?” Nero’s hands continue on with Dante’s body when he finishes his hair. He’s clinical about it, only offering a moment of tease when he brushes over his nipples. But as fast as he does it, he’s moved on to washing more of him, only a small smirk to indicate he’d really done it on purpose.

“You gonna give me any hints on what this surprise is?”

\--

Dante's breath hitches, and he glances down at Nero with a knowing look. "Sure thing. I was just saying, it could definitely be a thing if you wanted it to."

As for hints, though, Dante's sure he can bullshit something. "Let's say," he starts, "...Let's call it something that just might help you for the rest of your life. If anything, call it something to remember me by if you ever get tired of my old ass."

\--

Nero sighs. The hint is entirely unhelpful and he doesn’t even bother wracking his brain to try to solve the puzzle of Dante’s cryptic, half-assed hint. Instead, he makes sure they’re both rinsed in their entirety, then gives Dante a quick kiss.

He reaches around the other man to turn off the water and pulls back the curtain, “Well, let’s get out of here, then, hmm? You’ve got me all curious now.” He steps out and exaggerates the sway in his walk just slightly. Just a bit of a tease. Even more when he bends over to get one of the towels. He turns back to Dante with a slight smirk, “Well? Hurry up!”

\--

Dante follows after Nero hastily, drying off and smiling as he watches the other leave. "Yeah, yeah. Just go put some clothes over that cute ass of yours."

Dante dresses himself, tossing on boxers and dusty jeans, hooking his chaps to his belt and tossing on a flannel. "Make sure you got all your shit, baby. It'd suck to leave something here."

Rebellion looks as beautiful as she always does, her chrome shining dully in the rising Colorado sun, parked teasingly just outside their room. "Alright! Let's have a little adventure, yeah?"

\--

Nero dresses himself in his signature jeans and band tee. The shirt a relic from home, the jeans new since they’ve made some money. With one final glance around the room, he shrugs on Dante’s jacket, shoulders his bag, and follows Dante out into the morning light.

Getting on the bike and riding away from the motel is practically routine by now. And the ease with which they mount up almost makes it seem like the previous day hadn’t happened. Especially when Dante’s hand finds its way to its familiar resting place on Nero’s knee shortly after they get going.

He spends the first bit of the trip watching the scenery pass them by. Colorado is much more interesting to look at than the flat, dusty desert of Nevada. But eventually, he tires even of the mountains and trees and settles on resting his head between Dante’s shoulder blades while the engine of the bike purrs beneath them and takes them toward Dante’s surprise.

\--

Dante keeps his eyes forward and hand back against Nero's knee, occasionally pointing out a deer or two as they fly by. He sometimes glances in the side view to look back at Nero - and smiles behind his bandana when he feels the smaller just cuddle up smack between his shoulders. 

He's so cute.

Dante drives for awhile, and eventually, they hit another smaller town. A pawn shop lays smack in the middle of it, and that's what Dante pulls up to. "I got a buddy here named Rodin," he says, dismounting Rebellion. "He'll hook us up." 

Dante motions him in, leading the way. His bandana falls around his neck as his aviators come up to rest on his head, and he shoulders the door open. "Rodin! Yo, it's Dante, I got a favor and you owe me, man."

A man steps out of the back, leaning on the front counter. He's tall and dark skinned, and just a little bit burlier than Dante himself is. "Well well well. Do they just let anyone into Colorado these days? 'Specially with what you do."

"That's _used_ to do, and I'm not here to chat. Here for this one," Dante says, clapping a hand on Nero's shoulder. "Here's your surprise, kid. Pick a spinner ring."

\--

Dante pulls up at a pawn shop in this little middle of nowhere town. The guy inside, who Dante claims to know (big surprise) looks like he crawled out of some seedy back alley with half a dozen suspicions of various crimes. But Nero trusts Dante and follows him in.

Nero certainly wasn’t expecting this for his surprise.

His eyes flicks over the display of rings. There are all kinds, all sizes, all colours. From gaudy to simple. One end of the display is all spinning rings, rings with a second piece of metal slightly larger than the main ring so it can spin freely. Nero’s heard of them, but never seen them and certainly never had one.

He runs a thumb over the display. He takes his time, spinning a few, testing them on his fingers. He ends up settling on a simple one with a braided Celtic looking design along the spinning ring. It fits snugly on his right index finger.

Finally, he turns to Dante, “You don’t have to do this.”

\--

Dante nods in approval at Nero's choice-- It really is a nice ring. Not gaudy, not boring - it's just... Very Nero. "Nice pick."

Adding onto that, Dante looks to Nero with a raised eyebrow and that same goddamn grin. "You usually try to wiggle out of getting presents?" Not that this is just an ordinary present. At least, Dante hopes it won't be; His hope is that it might help Nero with his anxiety and cutting urges in the long run.

But either way, Dante fishes out his wallet. "What's it gonna be, Rodin?"

Rodin gives him a look behind his sunglasses. "I'm knocking twenty off max, hell boy." 

"Twenty? I'm cashin' in that favor, you better knock off more than _twenty_."

Rodin looks to Nero and back to Dante. "...I'll knock off forty. But only because I like you, _occasionally_."

The ring goes for about one-twenty-- Sterling silver and overpriced as shit. But with forty knocked off, comes into around eighty bucks. But hey-- For Nero, it's worth it.

Dante would blow his last dime on Nero, if he's being honest.

Once they're out, Dante stands in front of Nero. "So? What'cha think?"

\--

Nero can feel his face flush some when Dante comments on his reluctance to let him do this for him. So he looks away quickly and instead focuses on the ring on his finger. He spins it experimentally several times, feeling how quickly it will spin, how long he can get it going for, testing how it feels in his hand. He likes it. He likes how it feels, that it keeps his attention, gives him something to occupy his hands.

When he hears the price he almost takes it off.

He stares at Dante the entire time he pays, watches the older man hand over the money. Eyes wide and disbelieving. The only time anyone has ever come close to spending that much on him was when Credo gave him his shitty old iPod a few years back as a birthday present. And he hadn’t actually spent money on it, just had gotten a new one for himself and hadn’t needed the old one. Nero treasured that thing like it was made of gold. He was pretty devastated when it died on him.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts and disbelief when Dante asks him what he thinks. He glances down at his hand, spins the ring a couple times, “I think you spent way too much money on me. But…” Nero looks up to Dante’s eyes and smiles, “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

\--

Two weeks pass without a hitch, and Nero and Dante are getting bored of Colorado. Hence why they sit where they are now - in a bar just outside Kansas, but still within Colorado limits.

Dante sits with his personal preference - Hennessy Cognac featuring a side of Nero. Dante's attention flicks from his lover to the TV above the liquor, which has a Greenbay vs Chicago Bears game going. It's mindless, and it's something to focus on when they just settle for a comfortable silence.

It goes well, up until Dante feels a tap on his shoulder and a "Dante! That you, man?" 

Dante turns, and finds himself face to face with two older men - a taller blonde and a slightly shorter redhead. His heart jumps to his throat but fuck if his face shows it-- Oh yeah, he knows these two. Dante remembers them both from his days as a Hell's Angel.

"...Do I know you?"

"Yeah, man!" It's the redhead that speaks, showing Dante the patch on his jacket sleeve.

Dante lets his eyes flick back and forth between them both, trying both to protect Nero and keep from scaring him-- These two are definitely carrying heaters, and if Dante says one stupid thing, this bar goes up, and Nero could get hurt.

They don't like ex-members. In the eyes of the HA, you don't leave; You die or get thrown in prison for the rest of your life.

"Don't recognize that."

"Dante the joker, as always," the blond snorts. "Hey, got a favor-- Half our carriers are gettin' locked up, and you were one of the best And," he leans in a little closer, "We got some damn good smack to sweeten the deal. You in?"

\--

Nero likes sitting next to Dante in comfortable silence at bars. It’s a nice ambiance, drinks in front of them, knees knocking occasionally against one another, the hum of conversation over the beat of some classic rock song. And people don’t ask questions. They don’t look at him long enough to be able to recognise him from the posters. He feels safe here, as long as Dante’s by his side.

When two guys, much older than himself, strike up conversation, Nero tries his best to melt into the background. He doesn’t move, doesn’t go elsewhere, but he also doesn’t speak. Stays still and watches the exchange out of the corner of his eye. Dante looks… uncomfortable. Not outwardly so, Nero’s just learned to read him. It’s like he’s waiting for something to go south.

The redhead shows Dante the patch on his sleeve, indicating he should recognise the insignia. Dante plays it off, but Nero can tell something’s up. When the other one starts talking about carrying and smack, Nero’s stomach drops. Something is definitely up and it is not good.

Nero’s finger automatically starts messing with the ring Dante got him. He spins it gently, still trying not to bring attention to himself. He’s starting to get concerned. One knee knocks toward Dante, a subtle touch to remind him that he’s there. And that he’s behind him.

\--

Dante's hand moves to Nero's knee, and at this point, he knows the younger is just as freaked out. His thumb runs across the denim of his jeans as he tries to reassure Nero, but Dante also knows Nero isn't stupid. They've learned to read each other, and read each other well.

Dante looks to Nero and mumbles, "Just old friends I never expected to see again. Everything's good. Just sit here, and when I pop back in, we leave. Yeah?"

Dante looks back to the two men before him. "Let's take this outside. Just-- Privacy, y'know? Y'all are getting fuckin' sloppy."

So Dante does what has to be done.

He steps out, two men in tow. Once outside, he makes himself clear. "Listen to me," he starts, "I don't shoot anymore. I'm not a fucking courrier anymore. I'm _out_ , I told you two and every other motherfucker that I was _out_ when I turned twenty-five. I don't know who told you I was back, I don't know why they told you I'm back, but I'm _not_."

\--

Nero nods when Dante explains. Takes him for what he says even though he knows it’s not a whole truth. Stays put as he walks off with the two men.

And immediately feels very very alone.

Suddenly, he feels eyes on him. He can’t identify where they’re coming from but they feel lecherous and predatory. His spinning increases and he turns back to his drink to take a nervous sip.

He jumps when a hand touches him.

Whirling, he comes face to face with a man, looks to be in his late forties or early fifties. There isn’t a single thing about him that doesn’t scream creepy pervert. He’s got a little grin on his lips that gives Nero the shivers.

He reminds him of his stepdad.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doin’ alone in a place like this?” the man asks, boxing Nero in with his arms, resting them on the bar behind Nero.

“Not alone,” he mutters through gritted teeth.

The man glances to either side of Nero, “Don’t see anyone else, you look pretty alone to me. How about you let me take care of ya, fill your glass.”

Nero can tell what was hiding behind the offer, thinly veiled. He’s disgusted, revolted by the stench of rum wafting off of the man and just about ready to hit him. But he can’t, not unless he wants to make a scene. And a scene means bringing attention to himself, means someone might recognise him. He’s way too close to home to take chances. “I’m alright, thanks,” he says, trying to be polite but succinct.

He leans in closer, almost kissing distance. Nero can’t lean away from the man anymore without laying on the bar. “It wasn’t a question.”

And now Nero feels entirely cornered. His eyes are wide and full of fear. It’s like being home all over again. Unable to fight back, unable to _do_ anything. He just wants away, he just wants to be back in some shit motel with Dante wrapped around him.

The man grabs his chin painfully, holds him still while he presses their mouths together and forces his mouth open.

\--

Mumbles of "Alright, have it your way," and "I'm tellin' you, it's great smack, man," echo as the two head back to their bikes to light up cigarettes, leaving Dante to his own devices.

Dante sighs, fixing his gloves and his jacket, before deciding just to head inside. He thinks Absinthe sounds good-- Assuming Nero doesn't immediately become distrustful. "Motherfucker," Dante mumbles, carding a hand through his hair and laughing dryly. "That was fun."

So he heads back in, and immediately, he knows he shouldn't have left in the first place.

Someone's got Nero pinned to the bar, and by the looks of it, it's someone who's drunk as fuck and way too old. So Dante silences his steps, unhooking and unsheathing his own knife from the back of his belt, keeping the flat of the blade against the inside of his wrist. Upon approaching, Dante holds the edge to the harasser's windpipe. "Fancy a shave, my friend?"

\--

 

Nero isn't sure what's happening at first. He just knows he suddenly has more space than he did. Then Dante's voice registers in his mind and he sighs in relief. Dante is here. He's here and he's getting this _pervert_ off of him. 

He's not home. He's not helpless. He has Dante. 

The man's eyes are wide with Dante's knife pressed none too gently against his throat. He backs off of Nero some, "I don't mean no trouble." He holds his hands up in surrender.

Sure. 

Nero sneers as the man slowly backs away until he can skitter away as quick as he can. Then he looks at Dante with a grateful smile, "Thank you. Can we get out of here?"

\--

Dante looks over Nero, quickly sheathing his knife and clicking it into place. "Yeah-- Yeah, let's. Sorry, kiddo, should've stayed."

Dante tosses down a ten for the few drinks they did have, and guides Nero out with a hand on his lower back. "Let's just go and not come back. Colorado's been a shitstorm for us, cheap weed or no."

Dante looks to his partner, though, and runs his eyes up and down Nero, evaluating him. He puts a gloved hand on the side of Nero's neck, thumb under his jaw. "You sure you're okay? Talk to me if you aren't, Nero, I'm serious."

\--

Nero is grateful for the comfort Dante offers. Grateful for the hand on the small of his back as they leave and grateful for his excuses for leaving. He’s even grateful for the way Dante examines him afterwards, the concern in his eyes.

Grateful, but not used to it.

He almost says no, says he’s fine before pleading to take off as fast as they dared. And if this were anyone else, he would have. Would have brushed them off and pretended he was fine. But this is _Dante_. And Dante already knows the truth.

“I- not really. I will be. He just- he reminded me of my stepdad.” Nero steps closer to Dante, hands on his hips. “I’ll be ok, though. Promise.”

\--

Dante kisses Nero's forehead, and he sighs through his nose. "I figured," he mumbles, moving to hug the smaller and bury his nose in his hair. "S'gonna be okay, kiddo. Let's just-- Let's just keep riding, and we'll settle down somewhere 'lax."

Which is exactly what they do. Dante rides until he can't fuckin' think anymore, rides until he figures he should stop _solely_ for his and Nero's safety. It's one am, they're in fucking _Kansas_ , and Dante can't keep his mind off the two that approached him earlier.

...Good smack, huh?

The motel is off a statewide highway. It's small, one story, closet-sized rooms. No couch, no chair - just a bed, a dresser, and a TV. And a bathroom, but just barely.

When they get in, Dante doesn't really say anything. Tosses his jacket on the end of the bed and goes to wash his face-- Getting a really nice glimpse of his arms in the mean time. 

Dante hasn't wanted to pick up a needle in just under ten years, but right now, it's coming back full force.

\--

The ride is quiet, both of them caught up in their own thoughts. They drive on for hours, well into the night until Nero loses track of what time it even is. Somewhere deep into Kansas, they stop at a motel. Dante seems different, but Nero can’t tell if it’s just exhaustion or something else. But something tickling at his stomach is telling him it might be something else.

Dante hardly sets his stuff down before he retreats to the bathroom and Nero hears the sink. That feeling in his stomach won’t go away and it feels similar to the start of an anxiety attack. And Nero can’t ignore it.

He debates turning on the TV, but ends up choosing not to. Instead, he listens to the water run in the bathroom. Gets worried when it goes on for a bit too long.

Finally, he gets up and stands at the door to the tiny room. There’s Dante, staring at him arms. The focus reminds him of a few times he’s stared at his own body. At his scars. At the reminders of his pain, his weakness. He clears his throat, “Hey, you alright?”

\--

Dante looks over to Nero, and he turns off the water. "Dandy," he shrugs, drying off his face and his hands, "Peachy keen, kiddo." 

Dante doesn't want to tell Nero. He doesn't want to tell him that he started shooting because someone said it's fun, doesn't wanna think about Lady or Trish or any of that shit because in the end, that's what it boils down to. Dante sees it as nothing more than a 'woe-is-me' story, nothing more than pity material. And that's why he doesn't wanna tell.

'Cause Nero's just gonna cover him in apologies and pity.

It's nothing against Nero, it's just...

"It's just one in the morning. 'M tired."

\--

Nero wants so desperately to believe him. Wants to just take his hand, crawl into bed, and forget about the world as they pass out. Wants to kiss him till his eyelids are too heavy to keep open he can’t hold his head up.

But he can’t.

And his first instinct is to get pissed. Pissed that Dante would lie. Pissed that he’d hide anything after everything Nero has told him. So fucking angry. Angry enough that he’d like to yell and scream at him. Accuse him of not trusting him. Cry and slam his fists against Dante’s chest. Maybe even run for a bit.

But he won’t.

Can, but won’t. He cares too much. And he understands Dante’s reluctance. It’s not about trust. There are so many other factors. Fear, self loathing, embarrassment, hatred. Plenty of other reasons not to spill his guts. And Nero _knows_ that look. He’s worn it far too often. And he knows now what it feels like to have someone else who cares know your secrets. He wants to give that to Dante.

So Nero stands his ground and raises a brow in concerned question, “You don’t have to tell me everything, you’ve got every right to your secrets, but don’t lie to me about them. You’ve obviously got shit going on. So let’s go lay down and you can tell me or not, but don’t lie. It’s insulting.”

\--

Dante looks at him, and he crumbles internally.

Nero's right. He has no right to lie-- Especially not after Nero /trusted/ him enough to tell him he wasn't okay after the bar. And Dante just looked him dead in the eye, and lied to him. So he just nods at Nero's suggestion; Strips his shirt and tosses it wherever, and does the same with his boots and his jeans.

And once they're down, lights out, and tangled up like they're afraid to drift apart, Dante tries to open up.

"So..." he mumbles into Nero's hair, "I used to be in some bad shit, I guess. After Lady died and Trish left, I decided to sell all my shit and take off on Rebellion. Ended up meeting people, doing favors. Usually I was just carting around someone's ounce of dope, or their loaded syringes or whatever. Until a couple of fucking goons begged to shoot me up, said it was the best thing ever, can't not do it."

"And that," Dante sighs, "Is how I ended up stuck on it for about three, four years. Daily, couldn't put it down. I'd miss my veins in my arms so many times I'd just stick my neck instead."

"But fuck it. It's all good now."

\--

Nero stays silent as they undress, as they lay down and tangle together. Nero curls into Dante, safe in his arms. One of his hands runs aimlessly over Dante’s skin, in comfort, in care, he doesn’t even know. Maybe just because it feels right.

When Dante starts speaking, he keeps his hand moving as he listens. He’s not terribly surprised by the story. Not too difficult to put two and two together, after noticing the track marks, the guys in the bar, what they said. He’s had enough experience with addicts in his life, he knows the signs.

And he knows the dismissal Dante gives him at the end. So Nero kisses his chest, “I’m proud of you, for getting clean. That shit’s tough to put down.” Another kiss and a moment of silence, “What made you give it up?”

\--

Proud, huh.

Dante hadn't heard anyone tell him they'd been proud of him. Not even just about getting clean, but in general-- His mother, God rest her soul, died when he was nine, and his father before that. So to hear Nero say he's _proud_ is--

"I got sick of puking all the time," Dante laughs dryly, "Shit makes you sick as a dog, and I got tired of going from needle to the bathroom and back again. Y'know?" 

"Plus," Dante adds, "I might be a grown ass man, but I started thinkin' about how mom would've felt. And I knew that if she had heard, she'd have cried and blamed herself. So I stopped."

\--

“Good for you.” It’s hardly a whisper. Nero means it though. He’s watched his mom for ages do exactly what Dante’s describing. Only broken up by bouts of drinking, too drunk to even stick herself with a needle. Most of the time, she wouldn’t even make it to the bathroom, Nero’d have to clean up after her.

She’s tried, several times, to get clean. At least she’s claimed she has. Almost made it, once. Probably was about a month or so clean before she broke down and got higher than Nero had ever seen her before. He recognises that when you’re trapped by something like that, it doesn’t give up easily.

“I mean it, Dante. That’s hard. I’m so fucking proud of you.” He nuzzles in closer to Dante. “Thank you for telling me.”

\--

Dante clings to Nero like he's the only grip in reality he has. "Thank you, kiddo," he breathes, shutting his eyes, "Thank you."

Dante tries really hard not to pepper Nero in kisses, tries desperately not to smother him in affection, tries not to keep too tight of a grip on him. It's just refreshing to hear that, Dante thinks, it's nice to know that some one gives a fuck. 

I love you, Nero.

"Let's just get some sleep. I'll still be here when you wake up."

\--

Usually, the way Dante nearly suffocates Nero with kisses would irritate him. Make him feel trapped and cornered. But with Dante it just makes him feel safe, wanted.

Loved.

So he returns it all in kind. Kisses back, grips just as tightly. Gives back every ounce of affection in exactly the same way. Because he feels the same way. Exactly the same way.

Nero smiles against Dante’s skin, and that’s how he falls asleep. Wrapped up, safe and warm. Just two souls with shit hands in life that fell into each other’s arms.

\--

Dante and Nero have been together for nearly a year, and they're inseperable. 

Dante loves Nero more than he loves his bike, more than he loves himself - and Dante really likes himself. Nero has healed scars that Dante hasn't touched in years, and for that, he's grateful. They've both done that for each other - licked wounds, stitched each other up. And it's been the healthiest relationship Dante has ever had.

Now, they're trying to head to New York. Dante wants to show Nero the world, show him everything he can before their time together is up. And where better to show Nero the world than from the tallest skyline in America?

So here they sit, gassing up at a 7/11 and stretching their legs. Nero's gone inside to grab copious amounts of caffeine and carbs, and Dante is just waiting for Rebellion's tank to hit full.

\--

Nero has never felt so _good_.

Nearly a year since he left his so-called family behind and he’s happier than he’s ever been. He’s got Dante, he’s got a steady supply of more or less legal income, he’s got a random motel bed each night with warm arms around him. Every bad thing that’s happened in his life feels a little more bearable. He just feels _good_.

And Dante’s taking him east. He’d never been farther east than the Mississippi. Never been far from home before he left. He’s so excited to see more, experience more, be out in the world. From stretches of trees to smog filled cities, he wants to see it all with Dante.

But they need food and fuel, so they’re at a 7/11. Nero’s on food and coffee duty. He peruses the aisles, grabbing a bag of chips here, a soda there. Piles shit in his arms and stops at the coffee machine before going up to the counter. He drops all the stuff and taps his fingers on the counter while he waits to be rung up.

Only something isn’t right.

The clerk isn’t picking any of his stuff up, not scanning it. He looks up to the clerk’s face and finds an older man staring at at him with wide eyes. He doesn’t understand at first. Until an unfortunately familiar poster catches his eye behind the counter.

The clerk recognises him.

\--

Dante stays outside, waiting for Nero to come back out as patiently as is possible for him. He doesn't know what's taking him so long-- It's just coffee and chips. And, Dante hopes, maybe even a slice of really shitty gas station cake.

Inside, however, is a whole 'nother story. 

The clerk inside has already called the police upon seeing Nero enter-- And is now just stalling. Making excuses, register's haywire, cashbox won't open. He keeps glancing outside at Dante, and asks "You with him?"

\--

Nero’s fucked.

He was fucked from the moment he walked in, but he’s just now realising exactly how fucked. Maybe if he can get out, take off. They’ll survive without eating for a while longer. They can stop a few more hours down. He can do this.

When the clerk asks if he’s with Dante, Nero doesn’t even have to glance out the window to see who he’s talking about. They’re the only ones here. But he does anyway. Glances out and looks at Dante, oblivious to all of this.

That’s when the police car pulls in.

And Nero knows he’s not going to be able to get out of this now. He can’t run now. Can’t escape. All at once, everything comes crashing down around him. His breathing picks up, goes into near hyperventilation. He panics. They’re going to take him away. Back to Oklahoma. Back to where he isn’t safe. And there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s still a kid. Not for much longer, he’ll be eighteen soon. But for now, he’s still a minor.

He takes one more glance out the window. Dante…

\--

Dante sees the cop car, and his first instinct is to leave.

He's got warrants. He's got several, and considering they're the only ones here, Dante's gonna get searched and booked for kidnapping a minor.

Hell no.

He tries to wait. He wants to wait, steps off and mounts Rebellion. She's already full, already disconnected from the pump so Dante fires her up, and revs her _hard_.

"C'mon, c'mon," Dante mumbles, "C'mon, Nero, don't make me leave you here."

\--

By the time Nero sees Dante’s ready for a getaway, it’s way too late. The clerk has moved to the door, letting the cop in and Nero is frozen from his panic. His heart is pounding in his throat and he tries to run, tries to move at all. But he can’t.

He looks out the window again and sees the cop’s partner heading toward Dante. His heart breaks. When he hears the familiar sound of the motorcycle start to peel away, it shatters.

He’s alone.

He doesn’t even hear the cop. He asks questions, tells Nero bullshit about how worried everyone has been. Nero stays silent. The only reaction he gives is to violently shrug away any attempts at touching him.

He punches the nearest jaw when someone starts to lead him out. Happens to be the cop. He’s lucky, the guy seems pretty good natured about it.

Somehow, he ends up in the back of the cruiser. They had to cuff him, worried he’d try to hit them again. When it pulls out of the gas station, he folds. Collapses in his seat and tries his hardest not to cry. He feels like his life is ending.

\--

Dante has never felt lower than he has now.

The second officer looks toward him and starts to approach, and Dante tears off like a bat out of hell. He doesn't want to, _God_ he doesn't want to. Behind his aviators, he's hurt in Nero's honor.

 _Nero_.

That kid is gonna go right back home to his fucking rapist and his drunk ass mother, and he's gonna get beaten or worse. Dante feels his chest tighten and he presses eighty, knuckles gripping the handles until the turn white. Nero, baby, no--

\--

Nero spends the night in holding. No phone call, not like he really has anyone to call. The cops tell him his dad is coming to pick him up.

Ha.

Stepdad. Awful piece of shit. But not dad. The man doesn’t get to be called his father. He can’t believe that the asshole has more legal right over him than Dan-

Nero stops his thoughts right there. It hurts too much to think about him. He plays the sound of Rebellion taking off over and over in his head and it just makes everything worse.

He barely notices the way he automatically starts spinning the ring on his index finger. The sound of the spinning metal rings in the room.

Somehow, he sleeps.

It’s fitful and he’s freezing. But he sleeps. And in the morning, he’s awoken by the grate of the cell door and a regretfully familiar scent filling his nose. His eyes only confirm the presence when they open. Nero shrinks against the wall, first instinct to cower. When the man approaches, he can feel the cement dig into his back through his clothes.

“Hey there, my darling boy.”

The nickname, one he’d nearly forgotten in the past year, sends him right back to ten years old, scared and defenseless. But when his stepfather comes closer, he goes into his fight mode. Stands up and screams, punches, scratches, anything to get this _creep_ away from him.

It isn’t long before a guard comes in and restrains him. Asks his stepdad if he wants to press charges, book him. He doesn’t, just has the guard help him get Nero to the car.

Everything is exactly the same.

Nero tries to sleep on the drive home. It takes a long time. He does everything he can to simultaneously avoid the other person in the car and not think about the places he’d rather be.

When they make it back to the house, it’s the same, too. Mom is in a stupor on the couch. Glances at them and tosses the empty handle of vodka in her fist just shy of Nero’s head, “Where th’ _fuck_ ’ve you been?”. Nero doesn’t answer and distances himself from them as quickly as possible. He escapes to his room, almost punches a wall when he remembers locking it won’t keep the demons away.

He buries himself in his blankets and it’s now he finally lets himself cry. Sobs into his pillow. Wishes he didn’t hurt so bad. Wishes his chest didn’t feel like he’s being crushed between two semi trucks.

He wishes Dante didn’t leave.

He doesn’t even realise he’s still wearing his coat. It’s not really Dante’s coat anymore. Nero’s worn it every day since the man gave it to him. It’s pretty much his now. But it still smells like Dante. Like Dante and cheap motels and dusty highways and liquor. And it _hurts_.

That night, it gets much, _much_ worse.

His stepdad comes in, just like always. Quiet, barely noticeable. Locks the door behind him. Grins down at Nero where he hides under his blankets, facing away. He knows he’s there. Can smell him, feel him. He curls in on himself, holds the jacket he’s still wearing closer to his body.

“Missed you, darling boy. Why’d you run off like that? Not very nice. We were so worried. I’ll have to punish you, you know.” Nero shudders, but doesn’t move. He’ll be forced to soon enough anyway.

A hand on his shoulder wrenches him onto his back, pulls his blankets away and tosses them aside. “Look at you.” The man drinks Nero in with his disgusting, lecherous stare. His eyes land on the jacket. He reaches down for it, “Haven’t seen this before…” His fist tightens and his eyes go cold and dangerous. He leans down and puts his face right next to Nero’s. He tries to recoil, but a hand holds him in place. “Who the hell have you been fucking? Need I remind you who you belong to, _darling boy_?” This time, the nickname is spit with disdain.

Nero doesn’t answer. Lays there like a ragdoll, waiting for the inevitable. His stepdad grabs his throat, slams him into the mattress and straddles his hips. It takes him almost no time at all to wrench Nero’s pants down, unzip his own enough to pull out his cock. He doesn’t waste time with a condom or preparation, just holds Nero into the bed and pushes his legs out of the way. Slams into him with all the force he can muster. A hand slaps across his cheek, “Come on, darling boy, moan for me. This is what you like, is it not? When it hurts? When you’re controlled.”

Nero’s mind wanders after this. He lets the scent from Dante’s jacket take him away while he’s taken by the evil man above him. He remembers all of the good things. Remembers the way Dante always protected him, kept him safe.

For a moment, he thinks Dante will appear. Save the day just like he did all those months ago in Colorado. Come in silent and deadly, put a knife against the bastard’s throat and fucking kill him. Let his blood cover the bed and save Nero from any more of this torture.

But he’s not here anymore.

By the time his stepdad is finished, Nero has tears streaming from his eyes silently. The man smirks at that. Drags his tongue across Nero’s cheek before saying goodnight.

It doesn’t end.

Before he left, Nero’s mom would beat on him every now and then and his stepdad would come visit no more than a few times a month, usually when his mom was too high to be of use to him. But now, it’s like both of them are making up for lost time. A day doesn’t go by that he’s not bruised and broken in several different ways.

He’s not allowed to leave the house. No visitors. The only time he goes out is if his mom sends him out on a booze and cigarette run. The only reason it’s all sold to him is because it’s a small town and the clerks all know it’s not for him.

He spends most days curled up on himself hoping his mom and stepdad forget he’s there. And most of the time, they don’t. They’re always yelling at him, blaming him, accusing him. It’s exactly the same as before he left, except much worse.

School isn’t even on his mind. No one takes him, he’s got no way to get there, and he’s pretty sure his parents would hit him if he wanted to go. So he just forgets about it. He’s already missed a year, might as well give up on it. Not worth his time.

The only thing that really gets to him is that not even Kyrie and Credo can see him. He’s been back for months now and he hasn’t heard anything from them. Though, he’s sure that’s his stepdad’s doing. He’s keeping him especially close. Any kind of friend of Nero’s is not welcome. He’s owned, not to be shared.

And a year later, his eighteenth birthday come and gone, he’s still trapped. Caged. Under orders. Legally, he supposes they can’t keep him there. But they never did care much for the law. Evidenced by the fact that Nero is, yet again, on a run to buy alcohol for his mother. Alcohol and cigarettes. The local corner store is not too far from his house. About a fifteen minute or so walk. It’s also the only gas station around for probably about 50 miles in any direction. And the walk is the only chance he really gets to be free. And, even in the summer heat, Nero walks with a red leather jacket hanging too large on his frame.

\--

Dante has been searching for Nero every day since he left.

He wished he'd never left Nero behind, wished he'd just gone into that store and snatched him up and just _ran_. Put Nero on the back of his bike and hauled ass-- It's not like he hasn't outrun cops before, it could've been so easy. Nero could still be here, in his arms, safe from his shitty family.

Dante backtracked. He checked all of Arizona where they met, searched damn near all fifty fucking states for a _year_ to find Nero. And to be honest, he spent half of it wanting to fill the gap he'd left with smack. 

In fact, he picked up again.

He didn't shoot it. Dante was ready to though, god he was ready, belt around his arm and needle uncapped. And he remembered the way Nero said he was proud of him for getting clean in the first place. So he didn't. Broke the needle under the heel of his boot behind the motel, put his belt back on, and settled for a menthol and a bottle of Jack instead.

That was a month ago. Now, he sits outside a gas station in Oklahoma, flipping through pictures of him and Nero on his phone as Rebellion refills.

"Miss you, kiddo. I'm tryin', I really am. Just give me a little more time."

\--

Nero keeps his head down as he rounds the corner, doesn’t bother looking around. Just ducks into the store and heads straight for the little shelf of alcohol. He picks a couple handles of vodka off the shelf, goes to the counter and asks for a pack of smokes. He takes a second and debates grabbing a pack for himself, but doesn’t.

Pays with a few bills, ducks back out.

It’s a complete accident he glances around the station. A total coincidence he notices the motorcycle that looks so fucking familiar. Random happenstance that he looks harder for just a second.

He drops both bottles and the pack of cigarettes to the pavement.

The sound of glass breaking doesn’t even make it through the fog in his mind. He marches over to the man leaning up against the bike with a phone on his hand. His first move is to punch him, right in the gut. And the next is to wrap his arms around the man, bury his face in his neck, and inhale.

“Dante, you fucking _prick_.”

\--

The sound of shattering glass is what first catches Dante's attention, grinning down at his phone. "Party foul--"

But when he looks up, he almost starts fucking crying.

" _Baby_ \--" he breathes, only to get cut off by one of the _gnarliest_ punches to the gut he's ever received. It hurts, and Dante almost pukes, but he doesn't fight Nero. Coughs, staggers a little bit, but otherwise recovers by the time Nero has pressed himself flush against his chest.

Dante immediately wraps his arms around Nero and just holds him, hand on the back of his head and one arm wrapped around his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he says, "I'm so fucking sorry."

He pulls away from Nero, taking his face in his hands. "Hey," he laughs breathily, "You grew into your jaw a little more. God, kid, you look-- You look... Really good."

\--

Dante’s apologies don’t really mean much to Nero. Not because he doesn’t accept them, but because he doesn’t need to. Nero is pissed, angry, hurt. But none of that matters. Because Dante is _here_. He’s here and real and maybe this all won’t end so badly after all.

When they pull away, Dante looks him over. Nero scoffs at his comment, “Don’t lie. I know I’ve got a black eye the size of Texas. I look like hell.” Nero searches Dante’s features, memorises the face he never forgot, “You look good, too.”

Nero wants to lean up, wants to catch Dante’s lips with his own. But he doesn’t know if he has the right anymore. Doesn’t know how the past year has altered their relationship. If they even have a relationship. Nero’s fingers start spinning at the ring still on his finger after all this time. He averts his eyes, “I missed you.”

\--

Dante runs his thumb under Nero's eye, and he sighs through his nose. "He do this to you? Nero I swear to god, I'll fuckin' kill him." Dante stops. He shuts up, and he kisses Nero deep, albeit briefly. "I missed you. I have missed you every day, Nero, every day. I--" 

Again, Dante pauses, pressing his forehead to Nero's gently. "...You look good to me. Always have, even when you were a little tipsy and a little sloppy, hanging all over me." 

Dante looks down, hears the metal of Nero's ring, and notices the jacket. "You kept this shit?"

\--

Nero is so glad when Dante kisses him. And of course Dante would be concerned. Of course he would be protective. “Nah. This one… this one was mom. He doesn’t tend to leave too many marks.” He grips Dante’s shoulder, “But don’t- don’t do anything. It’s not worth it. Just. I just want to get out.”

Nero smiles when Dante mentions him being tipsy. Tipsy and clingy. He’s definitely an affectionate drunk. At least he didn’t get his mother’s drunken behaviour.

And the stuff. Of course he kept it. That ring and this jacket. That’s how he made it through this past year. Made it through every night his stepdad would come in. Made it through every blow from his mother. Made it through every lonely night without strong, warm arms around him.

“Course I did.” He mutters.

\--

Dante wants to argue that yeah, it is worth it. Wants to argue that it's worth it because that fucker and his wife are _disgusting_ and need to get put down or taught a lesson that you don't _fuck_ your children, metaphorically or literally. But he doesn't. He drops it, because he knows Nero will fight him. 

"You know," Dante says, "I have your stuff. It all smells like Rebellion's saddlebags, but I have it. We can go. We can go to New York, I fucking _promised_ you. I promised you, baby."

\--

Those words have never sounded so fucking sweet. Never felt so amazing. He clings to Dante even harder, like he’ll disappear at any moment. “Please. Just get me out of here. I’m eighteen now, they can’t bring me back. Let’s go.”

He steps in close again. His nails have to be leaving marks in Dante’s back by now with how tightly he’s gripping him. He never wants to let go again. And if they go anywhere near his house again, he’ll never get out without blood being shed. And he has no doubt Dante’s willing to do that. But they’ll have enough issues without a warrant out for murder on both their heads.

“Let’s just leave. Right now.”

\--

Dante holds Nero just as tight, almost as if he's scared the smaller is gonna slip right through his fucking fingers if he lets go. "I love you," Dante mumbles into his hair, "I love you."

And when they pull apart again, Dante steps back. "Hop on. She's missed having a passenger, she doesn't purr as loud as she used to when you were around."

"Let's go make another motel home, yeah?"


	2. Banging Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible at puns....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harley and I had an itch so now there's another chapter. So if you were wondering if they immediately went to have sex, yeah, they did.

When Dante finds the boy that's kept him alive after a year of separation, he wastes no time proving how much he missed those pretty eyes and fair hair.

As Nero takes lead to their recently rented motel room, he begins to realize how much he's missed that wiry form. Nero's grown some, gotten taller, but Dante still has to look down at him - not that he minds. Nero walks and Dante can't take his eyes off the boy, can't stop thinking about how much he's _missed_ him and how much he's missed holding him and kissing him and marking him up. Which is exactly why Dante stops him before he can even swipe the card to get inside. 

Dante _shoves_ Nero's back up against the door, pressing flush against them and crashing their lips together and nipping at Nero's lips hungrily. Dante can't help himself, he's hungry and he wants to eat Nero for fucking dinner. "Baby," he growls, leaving _bruising_ kisses on Nero's neck. "Do you have _any_ idea," he bites down harshly, "How much I missed you?"

\--

All Nero wanted to do during the ride away from bum fuck, Oklahoma, was curl into Dante’s back and breathe him in and _memorise_ how it all felt again. But, instead, he spends most of it conflicted. Waffling between elation at being back on the back of Rebellion behind Dante and dread that his stepdad would come looking for him again.

He continues this line of thought while they check into a motel and as he leads the way to the room they’re given. So when Dante stops him before he’s managed to get the door open, he’s more than a little surprised. Pleasantly, but that doesn’t change the fact that he still flinches a bit.

Nero thinks he’s hidden the flinch well enough when Dante keeps on, shoving him hard into the door and pressing up against him. Every bit of them that could be touching is. Dante’s kisses are bruising and painful, but it’s _right_. Nero _missed_ this. Wished for it every night for the last _year_.

He smiles at Dante’s words, “I think you’re giving me a pretty good idea. Do you want, ah-, to go in first? Or do you plan on fucking in the hallway?”

\--

Dante manages to get the keycard from Nero's hand and slides it quickly, managing to open the door and stumble in with his lips still on Nero's. Nero tastes no different than he used to - like salt and inexperience. Dante doesn't waste time - he wants to see Nero's skin, wants to mark every inch of it and then show him off to the world because _you are mine_. So he throws off the smaller's jacket onto the carpet, kicking the door shut and following Nero blindly.

"Do you have any _idea_ ," Dante growls, one hand grabbing at at Nero's ass, "How often I thought of you?" His sentence is hardly coherent against Nero's mouth, but he can't bring himself to care.

\--

Nero follows where Dante leads. Stumbles backwards through the door once it’s opened and reciprocates the fervour with which Dante kisses him. It’s no different than it ever was. He still tastes like whiskey, still smells like leather and lighter fluid. It’s the same passion, the same need, they’ve always had. But it’s more intense. The distance and time has done something, added a desperation in their interactions.

The jacket falls away and Nero almost wants to cling to it. It’s been his only connection to Dante for so long, he has to remind himself that the man is right in front of him. He doesn’t need to hide behind a jacket because the man is _here_.

But he has other reasons to need to hide.

Dante’s hand on his ass and his words trying to make it through their kiss distract him. He makes a sound into Dante’s lips, the best answer he can come up with, and bring his hands up to try and pull and Dante’s jacket. He sheds it with little difficulty.

\--

Dante pushes Nero down onto the creaky motel bed the second he can, pinning the smaller beneath him and hiking up Nero's legs over his hips. The older moves to suck dark hickies onto Nero's neck fumbling with his own jeans as well as his lover's.

Lover.

That's nice, Dante thinks. That's better than nice, that's - that's wonderful, and the older can't help but pull Nero just a little bit closer and hold him just a little tighter, even as he grinds their hips together, thirsty for Nero's lovely little sounds. A breath of Nero's name escapes him as he moves to suck another deep hickey right over the center of the boy's throat with a possessive growl of _mine_. "You're _mine_ ," Dante repeats, grinding against Nero, "And I'm not gonna let you get taken from me again."

\--

It’s familiar and perfect.

Dante gets Nero on the bed before he really has time to do much of anything. As it should be. Folds him in half (a bit difficult with some of his mother’s marks still on him), and is back to kissing him in no time while he struggles to rid them of their clothes.

Nero feels Dante’s grip get a little tighter as he grinds into him. The friction is delicious and pulls soft moans from Nero’s throat. He feels warm and _good_. His name on Dante’s lips reminds him exactly how real this is. It strikes him how _loved_ he feels.

“I’ll, hhh- hold you to it, old man,” Nero barely manages to get out between moans and gasps.

\--

Dante breathes some kind of breathy promise to Nero, unaware of his own words but knowing that it's a _promise_ to keep him safe. His hands slide up the smaller's sides to rid him of his shirt, tossing it to the side and kissing down his chest but his skin is--

Cuts. Dante doesn't let it register and the thought is shoved from his head before he can even dwell on it. Dante's tongue licks over one of Nero's nipples briefly, drinking in all the little noises and whines that the younger makes. He's _beautiful_ and Dante wants to make sure he knows that. 

So he nudges Nero's legs off his hips to better get his jeans and his boxers off, tossing those just the same with Nero's assistance. "The last time you got eaten out was with me, wasn't it?"

\--

Dante’s promise is reassuring in Nero’s ears. It calms his nerves and comforts him in the face of his biggest fears. He’s still terrified his stepdad will come after him. But with Dante promising to keep him safe, keep him by his side, Nero feels much better. Almost like he can let his guard down.

Nero instinctively curls in on himself a bit when Dante pulls off his shirt, trying to hide the evidence of how he’s spent much of the last year. But when Dante just keeps kissing him and his tongue darts out, Nero forgets about the need to hide, lost in the pleasure of it. And the rest of his clothes follow quickly.

And then Dante speaks.

Nero can feel his cheeks burn. He wants to pop off with some stupid, flippant retort. But he can’t bring himself to joke about how he’s spent the last year with the wounds still so fresh. So instead he just confirms with a nod.

\--

"'S'okay, baby. It's okay."

Dante gets to work pretty quickly, hiking Nero's legs over his shoulders, hands running over the sides of his thighs. Nero is still bruised from his mother's wrath, and it pains Dante to look at. But he doesn't dwell, instead trailing kisses down his lover's pale thighs until he gets to his perineum. His tongue darts out and that's what he focuses on at first, one hand moving to carefully wrap around Nero's throat. He won't hold harder unless asked.

Dante licks and sucks at wherever he can reach, free hand teasing the head of Nero's cock lightly. Dante can feel that he himself is straining through his jeans and his belt is starting to feel suffocating. But he ignores it for Nero's sake, trying to remind Nero of what they had.

And of what he hopes is still there.

\--

Nero’s pretty sure he’s died and gone to heaven. With the way Dante trails kisses over him and _cares_. The way he immediately starts making this about him, even though he absolutely doesn’t need to. But Nero appreciates it. Appreciates how _right_ Dante feels. How right he _is_.

And his tongue is pretty fucking magic.

There is no holding back the whimpers and moans after Dante gets started. There’s a hand on his cock, one on his neck, and Dante’s tongue teasing him lower. So much sensation and Nero can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. But it doesn’t matter. He knows Dante likes it, maybe even loves it.

After a short time, Nero finds he needs more. There’s so much and still he craves more. More of Dante, more of this, but most of all, more pressure. His hand curls around Dante’s wrist where he’s got his neck in a loose hold, “More,” he chokes out.

\--

Dante's hold tightens and he fucking _growls_ , eyebrows furrowing in concentration as he tries to pleasure Nero. His tongue presses hard against the smaller's hole, not hard enough to press inside but _just_ hard enough to tease.

If Dante wanted to make him come just from this, he might've thrown out the whole nine.

But he doesn't. So he trails kisses back up, not focusing on anything except making Nero feel _good_. And leaving bites all across the vast expanse of his chest and stomach, right hand still _firm_ around Nero's neck.

"Tell me how much you want me to fuck you. Tell me what you want."

\--

When Dante’s hand tightens around his throat, it all comes together. It’s not enough pressure to make him light headed, but it’s enough to feel. Combined with everything else, it’s absolute rapture. Nero hasn’t felt this good in so _long_.

As Dante makes his way back up Nero’s front, he thinks he’s finally going to get what he wants. But it’s never been that easy with Dante, and Nero wouldn’t have it any other way. He grins when Dante orders him around. The nostalgia in it near overwhelming in the best of ways.

“If you don’t hurry up and fuck me into this mattress so hard the motel kicks us out, I’m going to flip you over and take what I want. Need you _now_ , Dante.”

\--

Dante's dufflebag rests on the floor near the side of the bed, so retrieving lube isn't all that difficult. Most of it was left from when he and Nero were still together, but hey - a guy can't go a year without getting off a couple times.

So Dante slicks himself and Nero up, but only to stop and decide to make the smaller feel even better, just for a little.

Dante lets one finger slide inside of Nero, knowing exactly where that spot is that makes him go crazy. But he avoids it for now, only brushing near it or next to it until a second digit joins the first. "Fuck," Dante breathes, grinning, "You... I missed you, lookin' at me like that. Missed you whinin' my name, missed you begging. Missed _you_ , kiddo."

\--

The bottle of lube that Dante grabs from his bag looks familiar and it makes Nero chuckle slightly at how sentimental it feels. He kept the lube. And any sentimentality he feels is overshadowed when Dante finally starts slicking them up and Nero is so _ready_ for this. To finally get what he’s been missing for so long.

But, yet again, Dante delays. Postpones what Nero is goddamn _desperate_ for with teasing. This time, with a finger inside and dancing around his prostate. “Christ-” His voice is choked and thin, so affected already.

He shudders and keens, legs shaking and fingers clutching at whatever he can reach. “Dante…” he whines desperately. He’s so needy. It’s been so _long_.

\--

Nero's legs are shaking with desire and need and Dante can't help but watch him, can't help but let his eyes scan that lustful, flushed face because oh my god, he's beautiful. He's bruised up and cut up but he's still just as radiant as he's always been, laying flat on his back and his face contorting with pleasure. Dante hushes him with a laugh and says, "Our neighbors are gonna know my name if you don't pipe down."

But Dante hopes he'll only get louder. He _loves_ those cries and those whines, those yelps of his name and those nails _raking_ down his back. He hopes by the time he's done with Nero, his back's gonna look like someone threw a lion at him.

Dante's fingers work in and out of him, occasionally brushing his prostate while he remains in the younger's ear. He nips at his jaw, whispering, "Fuck, Nero, I can't get enough of you, you know that?"

\--

The first time Dante’s finger brushes his prostate, Nero does two things. One, he screams. Unabashedly and without holding back. He won’t be surprised if Dante’s ear is still ringing in a few hours. Two, his hands fly to Dante’s back. He holds on tight, _rakes_ his nails down through flesh. It’s a good thing he knows Dante likes being scratched up, because otherwise he would feel bad. Because there’s no stopping it.

If the neighbours didn’t already know Dante’s name, they sure as fuck do now.

Dante’s fingers only make him louder, but still, the whispers are like shouts in his ear. “Then why don’t you get on with it? What are you waiting for?”

\--

Dante moans without shame when Nero's nails rake down his back, leaving a _wonderful_ sting in their wake. He can feel the red lines coming up, he can feel his skin tear and the blood start to prick up to the surface, and all he can think about is getting more of that. " _Shit_ ," he hisses, biting down to leave another hickey on Nero's throat. Dante had opened his jeans and discarded his belt awhile ago, deciding he was tired of the way they were getting uncomfortably tight and beginning to feel suffocating. Only now does he fully toss off his jeans and his chaps, letting his boxers tag along with them. 

Dante doesn't waste time rolling on a condom (these ones much more fresh, because those bastards do expire), slicking up his cock and lining up against Nero, bridged over him. He only sighs out a warning before pushing inside slowly, letting him get used to it. "Nero holy hell-- _Fuck_ , baby--"

\--

The sound of a foil packet ripping open is music to Nero’s ears. Finally, _finally_ , Dante is going to give him what he wants. What he _needs_.

It’s slow, more or less gentle. And the extra stretch is a delicious burn. It feels so good, so _right_. Nero revels in the way he feels connected to the man over him. The way he finally has someone who _loves_ him taking him rather than a sick man forcing him open. Dante is so perfect.

He wants to tell the man how good it feels, how much he’s missed this, how perfect the way he coaxes him open is. Wants to fill his ears with words about the slow burn and the dichotomy of gentle and rough he uses. But Nero’s never been too good with words.

So he writes him a poem of moans and gasps instead.

\--

Nero's noises are absolute music to Dante's ears, and he lets him know that when he starts moving. It's shortly after he's bottomed out - but he doesn't let Nero adjust. Never has, Nero's never wanted to. He's a little masochist, and this Dante is well aware of. Which is why he starts slow, rolling his hips and thrusting deep, but not pulling out too much. Not yet. 

Dante moans low, one hand caging in Nero's throat and the other helping to keep him up. Dante's grip is firm, squeezing the sides of his throat to restrict bloodflow and not airflow. Absently, his index finger brushes over Nero's jaw lovingly, pressing his forehead to the smaller's temple.

And then he begins to drive into him harder.

"Do you have, any, _idea_ ," he says again, "What I did, hn-, to find you? What I - _fuck_ \- did to see you again?"

\--

Nero’s always appreciated the way Dante never questioned his propensity toward pain. Never questioned and even seems to enjoy it. Indulges his need to hurt and drinks in the sounds of his wanton moans. It’s one of the reasons they work so well, he supposes. They’re practically made for one another.

So he experiences the pain. The pressure on his throat cutting off enough blood to make his head feel fuzzy. The burn of Dante’s cock stretching him. And also the pleasure. Dante’s breath on his skin. His finger stroking at his jaw. The way Dante’s hips pick up speed.

He barely hears the words, but he understands the sentiment nonetheless. He wants to know, wants to ask all about what Dante has spent the last year doing. But not now. Now, he just wants, “More. Harder. C’mon… _please_.”

\--

Dante gives in to Nero's request, smothering the boy in kisses as he drives into him harder, faster. Nero is wonderful, his moans are intoxicating and his whines are breathtaking. Dante can't even hold his own noises back, he's missed this and he's missed /Nero/ but now he's home. He's home in Dante's arms, right where he belongs.

Dante keeps asking his questions, "Do you know how - _hah_ \- how _worried_ you had me?"

Dante had been scared for a whole year. Scared for Nero's safety and scared for his sanity, scared for his health. Dante has felt like _shit_ since he left, and now... He's got a chance to maybe make it up to him. "I love you."

\--

Nero is finally where he belongs. Right at home beneath Dante with a soundtrack of their moans filling the room. He's light-headed and loud and Dante is driving him higher and closer.

Dante is still asking questions but Nero can't hope to respond. It doesn't really matter, anyway. Nero knows all too well how much Dante missed him. He missed Dante in exactly the same way. After he'd finished cursing his name for leaving him behind, he just missed him. Wondered what he was doing and if he was thinking of him. Clearly he was.

But it's the 'I love you' that really gets to him. It's only the third time he's heard the words from the other man. Though he's known, deep down, the truth of them long before, it's entirely different to hear them. To watch the way Dante's lips form the words.

It tips him over the edge in a way he never thought possible.

\--

Nero comes, and Dante knows he's not far behind.

The _sound_ Nero makes when he finally lets go and makes an absolute mess of himself is beautiful. It's loud and it's feral and Dante keeps fucking into Nero because he's _close_ but he's not there yet. So the hand around Nero's throat moves to stroke his softening cock, both trying to overstimulate him and help him through his orgasm. Dante tries to hush his cries, tries to whisper nothings to him, but he's stopped dead by his own orgasm, eyebrows knitting together and jaw falling open just barely. 

His thrusts gradually slow and move to a stop, Dante's forehead dropping to collide softly with Nero's own. His breath comes in ragged and harsh, and he can't stop _looking at Nero_.

"I love you, baby."

\--

Nero goes pretty brainless as he comes. He barely notices Dante working him through and over stimulating him. At least until he starts to come down. Pathetic, teary whimpers spill from his lips as Dante keeps going until he finds his own release. And that Nero doesn’t miss. He watches Dante’s face and it’s absolutely breathtaking.

But it’s in the moments after, hot breath mingling between them from heavy pants, that really sits with Nero. The way Dante’s eyes don’t leave from Nero’s face for even a fraction of a second. They just lay there, breathing hard and heavy and ragged, staring at one another. Remembering each other, memorising, confirming the reality of it all.

And then Dante’s words stop Nero’s heart. It’s the fourth time now that Dante’s said it, the fourth time in Nero’s entire life he’s ever heard the words, and Nero hasn’t yet had the chance to return the sentiment since their reunion. So he brings his hands up to Dante’s face, cradles it gently and sighs into him, “I love you, too, Dante. So fucking much. I missed you so much.”

\--

The way Nero returns the words with such hurry makes Dante's heart break. He leans into Nero's hands, nuzzling into them and dropping to his elbows to better card his own hands through Nero's hair. "I know, baby," he whispers, kissing the corner of his lips, "I know. I'm sorry, kiddo, I'm so, so sorry, I have never fucked up that bad in my life and I'm--"

Dante doesn't continue. Instead, he nudges Nero's nose with his own, once again resting their foreheads together. They stay like that for some time before Dante finally pulls out, tossing whatever wrapper and condom remains from sex into the bedside trashcan. He lays beside Nero carefully, just watching him.

Those cuts register.

\--

Dante’s hands through his hair matter more to Nero than the words. He doesn’t need Dante’s apologies. He knows he’s sorry. He spent months pissed off at the man for leaving him alone. But he understood. He figured it out. And he _knew_ that Dante never _wanted_ to hurt him. Never wanted to leave him to the mercy of his fucked up family. He forgave Dante a long time ago.

So when Dante finishes cleaning up and lays back down next to him, Nero clings. He clings like the elder man is just going to fade into nothing. Like this is all some elaborate dream and he’s just going to wake up in his bed at home to the door opening and his stepdad coming in again. He’s probably leaving little crescent shaped nail marks in Dante’s skin, but it’s nothing compared to the marks he’s already made. He holds hard and desperate, breathing the man in, afraid to fall asleep in case he really _does_ wake up back in Oklahoma.

He still doesn’t register that he’s got a lot to answer for from the past year.

\--

Dante holds Nero just as tight, tangling their legs together and keeping a hand on the back of the younger's head. His fingers stay laced in his coarse locks, keeping Nero perfectly against him and safe from harm. Safe from his stepdad and his mother. "I gotcha, baby boy, I gotcha. And I'm not letting you go, yeah?" Dante stays silent for a little bit after speaking, letting Nero ground himself and stay stable before finally asking that question he really, really didn't want to ask.

"Did you start cutting again?"

Dante doesn't ask it with venom or disappointment - he just asks. "Because," he starts again, "I don't-- I don't know what I'd do if I lost you to that, too, I already lost Lady, Nero, I can't lose you too I don't want to read about another dead kid in the paper I--"

Dante feels very, very powerless.

\--

They lay there for a long time in silence save for Dante’s reassurances. Just holding one another as tight and as close as humanly possible. Living in this stagnant moment of post sex fantasy.

And then Dante asks the question that brings reality crashing back around Nero.

Nero instinctively pulls away. Not enough to leave Dante’s hold, or even roll away. But enough to notice. Dante doesn’t sound disappointed or angry. He just sounds sad. Sad and lost. And it breaks Nero’s heart. It takes him a long time to be able to work out what to say and how to say it. He remembers the cuts on his ribs, his arms, the fresh and very deep ones on the insides of his thighs. He remembers the exact moment he made each of those marks and how hopeless and out of control his life felt in that moment.

He remembers trying to die.

He curls in on himself even more, trying to hide the marks. Impossible, but he tries anyway. “I-” he starts. His voice is so quiet, so young. “Dante, I _tried_. I tried so _hard_ not to. But it was so _hard_ , I didn’t have anything to hold on to.”

He goes quiet for a bit before adding, against his better judgement, “You almost did.”

\--

Dante didn't wanna hear that.

"What have I _told you_ , Nero?" he snaps, but not raising his voice. He's not angry, he's not, he's...

Fuck, he's scared. 

"What have I told you?" he asks again, looking Nero in the eyes. "If I lost you like that, if I spent months looking for a kid six fucking feet under-- If I read your name in the obituaries, if I found your _fucking_ headstone but not you, I--" Dante's voice cracks and suddenly he doesn't trust himself to go on and his guard goes up, steeling himself. He doesn't wanna make this about him, Dante really doesn't wanna do that because it's not about him it's about Nero and it's always been _Nero_ and-- 

"Don't tell me that!" This time, Dante's voice does raise the barest decibel. "Don't _tell_ me that, kiddo, I--"

\--

Each and every syllable out of Dante’s mouth is a direct stab to Nero’s soul. It’s not like he didn’t think of all that. It’s not like he didn’t have visions with every press of the blade of Dante’s face and memories of laying in a hotel room while Dante explains what happened to his friend. He thought about it all every time.

He thought about Dante happening across his headstone right before he sliced open his thighs.

He really wanted to die that time. It was the first time he truly used his blade to try to kill himself. It was barely a few weeks ago, now. He would’ve been successful, too, if his stepdad hadn’t come home early that day. Early with an intention of finding him.

The hospital was out of the question. People would ask too many questions. Part of Nero had hoped he’d die from lack of care, but his stepdad patched him up, kept him from bleeding out, and stitched his wounds. Spent far more time with Nero making sure he was recovering safely.

After that, Nero learned that he didn’t even have control over his own death. Something always interfered. So he got more careful. More shallow cuts. It didn’t hurt as much, didn’t let him escape as well, but he still had control. His stepdad didn’t even notice the new cuts, not surprising when he barely bothered undressing him most times.

Nero looks at Dante, full of guilt and sadness and regret.

And anger.

“You weren’t _there_ , Dante.”

\--

Ouch.

Dante doesn't know if the hurt shines in his eyes or if he makes any kind of grunt or distressed sound. He just knows that no one's ever said anything of that caliber to him, no one's ever said anything that's impacted him as hard as that just did.

Not even Vergil.

Dante kisses Nero's forehead and he sits up, sighing through his nose. His dufflebag rests bedside, and he rifles through it to find a half-empty, tinted bottle of Jack Daniel's. Flick of the wrist and the cap comes off easy enough, and he raises it to his lips. 

One, two, three, four.

Now he can deal with the situation at hand. Cap goes back on and the bottle clatters softly as it hits the cheap wood of the end table, and Dante runs a hand through his (very dusty) hair. He doesn't know how to respond - Nero's fucking /right/. He has no excuse to be bitching at him for something he could've prevented if he'd _waited just five fucking seconds_ , no excuse to bitch at Nero when he was going through hell for a year.

"Alright, you fucking win."

\--

Nero regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. He hates the way it makes Dante look at him. He hates that Dante just kisses his forehead and gets a bottle of Jack from his bag. His stomach turns and he feels miserable. He didn’t want to do this. They just found each other, he didn’t want to fight or hurt each other.

And when Dante concedes, he feels even worse.

“I didn’t- that’s not what I meant. It’s not a contest. I- A lot happened in the last year. I did things I’m not proud of, but we’re _here_ now. You’re here _now_.”

\--

Dante inhales and lets out a sigh, keeping his mouth shut for the time being. He knows it's not a contest - he just wants Nero to know that he can't lose _another_ person he loves to suicide, can't go back to losing Lady and he can't go back to feeling like a needle is the best therapy on the planet.

He can't do it.

So Dante lays back down beside Nero and he just holds him. Presses Nero to his chest and presses gentle kisses to every bit of skin he can reach. "I can't lose you, baby, I really can't," he whispers, kissing Nero's forehead again, "You talk to me if you ever feel like that again, Nero."

Dante just hopes he doesn't have to tell Nero about the heroin.

\--

Nero caves into Dante when he’s pulled back into him. He missed him so. Fucking. Much. He missed laying against him like this. He missed breathing in his scent and hopping from motel room to motel room. He missed being _home_.

So he concedes to Dante’s request, nods against his chest, “Yeah. Yeah.” He lays against him for a long time. Long enough for him to relax. Long enough for his hands to start moving, running over skin he’s missed so dearly. He finds dips in skin exactly where they’ve always been, hills where he remembers. Little has changed in Dante since Nero last saw him, physically. But he worries about the mental things.

When his hands find Dante’s arms, run over old scars from needles, he finally speaks, “You’re still clean, yeah?”

\--

Of course he asks. Dante smiles lightly, kisses the top of Nero's head and nods. "Barely," he admits, shutting his eyes. "But yeah. I am."

Dante's eyes close and he remembers the pressure of a belt cinched firmly around his arm, the pinch of the metal point against his vein, but not breaking the skin. He shudders, though not externally - he tries to keep it in. 

"I'm clean. I promise."

\--

Nero pulls back so he can _beam_ at Dante. “Good. You did good. I’m so proud.” He kisses his lips soft and slow, lingering there. It feels _so good_ to be able to do this. There’s nothing to worry about, no laws being broken just by being together. Just Dante and Nero supporting one another.

“I’m here to talk about when you have urges, too. It’s not easy, but we can help each other.” His voice is quiet, little more than a whisper. But in the quiet of the room, he knows it carries well enough.

It could be minutes or hours later, but finally, Nero tries to peel himself away from Dante. “I’m going to catch a shower. I still smell like that house.”

\--

Dante keeps Nero close and kisses him absently, even after they've decided to stop talking. Dante's hands continue to wander even still, running over his cock once or twice just to hear those sensitive little gasps that he loves so much. Dante doesn't let him go, not for anything - he's missed this far too much to let him go now.

When Nero says he's going to shower, Dante pulls him back. "Five more minutes and then you can, okay?" he murmurs, pressing up against Nero's back and wrapping his arms around the boy's waist. "Five more minutes."

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/playingchello) and [tumblr](http://playingchello.tumblr.com).


End file.
